THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CONSOLATION 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS, 


BY 


ABRAHAM     PERRY     MILLER. 


NEW  YORK: 
BRENTANO    BEOS. 

1886. 


• 


Copyrighted  by 
ABRAHAM    PERRY    MILLER. 


1886. 


JENKINS  &  McCowAX,  Printers,  224-228  Centre  St.,  New  York. 


?5 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Consolation 9 

The  Ghost 27 

The  New  Annus  Mirabilis 36 

Minnesota 42 

POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS  VEIN. 

Resurrection 49 

Our  Ships 50 

Retrospection 51 

A  Dream 52 

Come  Close  54 

Life 55 

Humiliation 56 

God's  Garden 57 

Ecstacy 58 

The  Race •  •  •  •  59 

The  Doctor's  Message 60 

Hortatus.    61 

Darkness  and  Doubt 62 

Very  Good '. . .          63 

My  Self  65 

On  the  Death  of  Children 66 

Old  Ann 67 

.POEMS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD. 

War  71 

Equality  .      ...  72 

The  Battle  of  the  Storms 74 

On  the  Bar  75 

The  Soldier's  Last  Look 77 

Unknown ' 82 

The  Doomed  City .  .      .    82 

The  Masked  Batteries 84 

Sherman's  Host 86 

Welcome  Home 89 


759381 


CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Mother 93 

Homeless .- 94 

Heaven  and  Hell 95 

In  Memoriam 96 

The  Army  of  Types 97 

Lines  Written  After  the  Franco-Austrian  War   98 

Brotherhood 100 

The  Dreamer 101 

The  Flirt  103 

Garibaldi 104 

Home-Sick 105 

On  the  Heights 106 

The  Whistler 107 

Hope  and  Duty 108 

Young  Love 108 

The  Phantom  Sawyer no 

Apostrophe  to  a  Comet in 

Middle  Age 113 

Worship 114 

Two  Boxes 114 

Our  Life 115 

At  the  Party 116 

Earth  and  Spring ....          1 16 

Drifting 117 

Girl  Love 117 

At  the  Concert 1 18 

Aurora  Borealis 119 

Song  of  the  Truth  Seekers 1 20 

Song  of  the  All-Parent 121 


PREFACE. 


Poetry  is  its  own  excuse  for  being, 
And  Poems  are  begotten  and  not  made, 
Being  of  one  substance  with  the  Poet's  soul; 
The  living  germs,  dowered  with  perpetual  life, 
Are  in  the  mind,  till  vivifying  Love, 
Clasping  the  Poet  in  divine  embrace, 
Draws  forth  the  spark  of  an  immortal  song, 
Which,  fed  and  cultured,  grows  to  its  own  sphere, 
Like  a  developed  and  harmonious  spirit, 
A  glory  and  a  comfort  to  the  world  ! 

Suggestion  is  the  law  of  Poetry. 
Poetry  is  the  spirit's  lightning,  which  reveals, 
By  vivid  flashes  of  electric  thought, 
That  dread,  divine  gratuity  named  Life: 
Fathomless  yearnings,  mysteries  infinite, 
Self  wars,  soul  triumphs,  white-hot  agonies, 
As  lightning  bursts  reveal  the  infinite  night, 
Fathomless  skies  of  cloud,  vast  scopes  of  earth, 
Wide  sea  expanses,  looming  mountain  heights, 
Deep  yawning  gulfs,  and  rivers,  plains  and  woods. 


PREFACE. 

Poetry  is  the  language  of  the  skies; 
The  Heavens  commune  in  musical  discourse; 
All  lives  must  live  to  music  or  must  perish; 
The  law  of  deathless  life  is  harmony. 

The  Poet's  pen  is  the  enchanter's  wand, 
The  Ithuriel  spear,  the  sceptre  of  the  king, 
The  master's  baton  and  the  painter's  brush, 
Tripod  and  trident  and  diviner's  rod; 
All  arts  in  one;  whatever  is,  is  his. 

Dear  Children  of  the  Heart!  go  forth  and  meet 
Bravely  your  fate  in  a  discordant  world. 
We  love  our  own,  ill-favored  though  they  seem 
To  those  who  cannot  love  them.     Issue  forth 
And  live  your  sweet  lives  gladly,  doubting  not 
That  many  hearts  will  love  you.     'Tis  the  fate 
Of  all  immortal  things  to  be  beloved. 


CONSOLA  TION. 


A    POETIC    EPISTLE    TO    A   YOUNG    POET. 


I. 

PRELUDE. 

My  Poet-Friend,  to-night  thy  Soul  is  near, 
I  know  thy  sorrow,  and  it  makes  thee  dear; 
And  never  yet  was  man  or  woman  born, 
Who  did  not  some  time  offer  love  for  scorn. 

I  have  been  out  around  the  dear  old  town, 
Long  walking  to  and  fro,  and  up  and  down, 
About  the  much-loved  streets  and  flowery  ways, 
Where,  soul  to  soul,  we  walked  in  other  days, 
And  now  returned,  with  Brain  and  Soul  on  fire, 
Filled  with  immortal  yearning  and  desire, 
I  write  my  thoughts  and  send  them  unto  thee, 
Across  the  Mountains  to  the  distant  Sea  ! 

To-night,  O  Friend  !  I  feel  the  old  unrest, 
The  strain,  and  stir,  and  tumult  in  the  breast, 
As  though  the  Soul  assailed  its  walls  of  clay 
On  every  side,  and  strove  to  break  away  ! 
So  have  I  seen  a  Lion  in  his  cage 
Spring  at  the  iron  bars  in  helpless  rage, 


I  o  CON  SOLA  TION. 

Or  plunge  against  the  walls  with  fruitless  bound, 
And  with  loud  protests  shake  the  buildings  round  ! 
To-night  there  comes  the  longing  to  be  free, 
Away  beyond  the  Mountains  and  the  Sea — 
Away  through  skies  to  some  more  glorious  clime, 
From  the  poor  Present  to  some  richer  Time — 
Away,  away  forever  !     Ah,  how  vain  ! 
For  are  they  Free  who  break  this  mortal  chain  ? 
Flies  in  the  cobweb  of  relentless  Fate, 
Our  struggling  souls  resent  the  present  state; 
Each  soul  a  Tantalus,  and  over  each 
Forever  hangs  the  Bliss  it  cannot  reach  ! 

I  know  thy  grief,  and  yet  how  shall  I  write  ? 
To  comfort  thee,  what  shall  I  say  to-night  ? 
That  thou  art  not  alone  ?     Behold  the  throng 
Of  wounded  souls  that  bear  some  gloomy  wrong. 
Ah,  sorrowing  friend  !  what  multitudes  to-day 
Walk  by  thy  side,  unknown,  the  thorny  way, 
And  walk  in  darkness,  praying  for  the  light, 
Like  one  who  walks  his  chamber  in  the  night, 
And  ever  through  the  windows  looks  away 
Into  the  chilly  night,  and  longs  for  day  ! 

There  is  no  soul  but  has  some  dear  regret 
For  something  lost  on  which  the  heart  was  set; 
Through  tear-drop  prisms  still  we  see  it  glow, 
Rimmed  with  the  splendors  of  the  glorious  bow. 
There  is  no  soul  but  sometimes  takes  its  flight 
To  those  far  skies  that  made  its  youth  so  bright, 
In  search  of  something  lost,  and,  with  a  sigh, 


CONSOLA  TION. 

Gives  o'er  the  search,  returns,  and  waits  to  die, 
And  treads  the  stony  way  with  bleeding  feet, 
To  find  it  when  the  heart  has  ceased  to  beat. 

Now  that  thy  love  is  spurned  and  undertrod, 
Fly  thou  to  Nature,  Poetry  and  God; 
Nay,  fly  to  Love  itself,  and  Love  shall  be 
Its  own  strong  healer,  and  shall  set  thee  free. 


n. 
NATURE. 

How  sweet  to  know  in  all  the  wounds  we  feel, 
The  mystic  power  that  Nature  has  to  heal, 
The  strength  and  comfort  found  by  him  who  flies 
From  human  contests  to  the  fields  and  skies — 
The  blest  escape  from  conflict  and  from  care, 
As  though  the  God  of  Comfort  met  us  there  ! 

I  have  not  soared  to  God  to  walk  with  Him, 
And  my  rapt  visions  have  been  brief  and  dim, 
Although,  like  Paul,  I  fought  against  the  flesh, 
With  every  power,  and  prayer,  and  thought,  and  wish, 
Yet  when  abroad  with  Nature,  ranging  free, 
God  met  me  on  the  hills,  and  walked  with  me  ! 
O  sweet  Autumnal  days  of  long  ago  ! 
How  in  my  bosom  yet  their  raptures  glow  ! 
Those  mellow  days,  when  in  the  infinite  West, 
In  some  celestial  island  of  the  blest, 
The  Angels  loosed  the  winds  and  set  them  free, 
To  roam  the  fields  and  woods  and  hills  with  me, 


I  2  CONSOLA  TION. 

While  toiling  men,  in  hamlets  far  away, 

Heard  the  woods  roar  through  all  the  balmy  day. 

O  blessed  days  of  sunshine  and  of  peace  ! 
When  from  the  strife  of  men  I  stole  release, 
And  walked  abroad  among  the  hills  and  woods, 
In  the  sweet  company  of  God's  solitudes; 
Through  velvet  fields  I  saw  the  rivers  run, 
And  white  towns  shining  in'  the  mellow  sun, 
And  heard  the  woods  their  soothing  music  pour 
From  forest  harps  with  multitudinous  roar; 
Or  saw,  across  some  blue  and  distant  bay, 
A  glory  fall  on  cities  far  away, 
And  taper  steeples,  tow'ring  slim  and  high, 
Stand  glorified  against  th'  ineffable  sky  ! 
And  then  God  came  with  His  rich  gifts  of  power, 
And  talked  and  walked  with  me  from  hour  to  hour, 
And  changed  me  to  a  Harp  of  living  chords, 
From  which  He  drew  such  strains  as  Heaven  affords; 
Nor  could  I  yield  when  sheltered  safe  and  warm 
And  Night  shut  down  around  me  with  a  Storm, 
For  still,  above  the  darkness  and  the  rain, 
My  Soul  went  out  to  walk  with  God  again  ! 

And  years  have  passed,  and  yet,  with  many  a  thrill, 
The  old,  old  love  of  Nature  sways  me  still  ! 
And  down  the  great  deeps  of  the  throbbing  soul, 
To-night  what  sounds  and  waves  of  rapture  roll, 
As  thunder- balls,  from  some  Olympus  hurled, 
Roll  down  the  sky  and  shake  the  solid  world  ! 


CONSOLATION.  13 

This  Summer  Night  is  neither  cool  nor  warm, 
But  fresh  and  fragrant  from  the  blessed  storm, 
Which,  still  receding  through  the  glorious  night, 
Lights  up  the  sky  with  endless  sheets  of  light, 
Shot  up,  divergent,  from  the  realms  below, 
Followed  by  hoarse  and  sullen  booms,  as  though 
Some  Planet  had  exploded  and  uphurled 
The  splendid  ruins  through  the  upper  world  ! 

All  through  the  afternoon  the  dreamy  day 
Swam  listless  o'er  the  Earth,  and  far  away 
The  lazy  clouds  went  loitering  round  the  sky, 
Or  sat  far  up  and  dozed  on  mountains  high. 
The  green  trees  drooped,  the  panting  cattle  lay 
In  the  warm  shade  and  fought  the  flies  away. 
Along  the  world's  far  verge  and  down  the  sky, 
Cloud  Panoramas  loomed  and  glided  by, 
Rocks,   icebergs,   mountains,    capped   with  luminous 

snow, 

And  hundred-towered  cities,  moving  slow  ! 
And  then,  with  banners  round  the  West  unfurled, 
The  great  red  Sun  went  down  behind  the  world, 
And,  eastward,  looming  o'er  the  hills,  Night's  rim, 
Like  a  World's  Ghost,  rose  ill-defined  and  dim  ! 

Around  the  West,  in  many  a  purple  fold, 
The  delicate- textured  clouds  lay  fringed  with  gold, 
As  though  the  gods  had  thrown  their  cloaks  aside, 
For  some  high  pastime  played  at  eventide; 
And  where  the  sun  went  down  the  glowing  sky 
Was  all  on  fire;  intense  and  flaming  high, 


14  CONSOLATION. 

The  light  burned  upward,  like  some  furnace  vast, 
Where  Heaven's  ore  is  into  planets  cast, 
And  then  sent  forth,  each  world  to  take  its  place, 
And  spin  for  cycles  through  the  realms  of  space  ! 
Then  when  the  fire  burned  down,  across  the  West 
A  Thunder-Storm  upheaved  its  golden  crest, 
Alive  with  lightning,  that,  with  wondrous  freaks, 
Played  o'er  the  cloud-built  cliffs  and  mountain  peaks, 
As  though  the  gods,  on  some  great  work  intent, 
Into  the  sky  had  heaved  a  Continent ! 

And  now,  while  yet  above  the  sky  was  blue, 
And  all  God's  worlds  came  thronging  into  view, 
From  out  the  West  there  came  a  cooling  breeze, 
Which  went  about  and  whispered  to  the  trees 
That  o'er  the  mountains  and  the  western  plain, 
Sweeping  this  way,  there  was  a  mighty  rain  ! 
And  we,  who  sat  beneath,  the  whispering  heard, 
And  knew  its  meaning  clear  as  human  word. 
Then  all  the  glad  trees,  with  the  news  elate, 
Waved  leaves  and  branches  with  commotion  great, 
As  men  hear  good  news  of  some  great  affair 
And  wave  their  hats  and  handkerchiefs  in  air  ! 

Anon  the  storm  came  on.     The  lightning  fell 
In  seas  of  fire  upon  every  hill  ! 
The  crashing  thunder  split  th'  eternal  walls, 
And  rumbled  down  the  sky  like  rolling  balls, 
And  gathered  all  its  strength  and  burst  again, 
And  shook  the  world  from  mountain-top  to  plain  1 
And  all  the  woods  and  echoing  mountains  round, 


CONSOLA  TION.  1 5 

And  all  the  hills  and  vales  and  quiv'ring  ground, 
And  all  the  hollow  sky,  and  every  cloud, 
Filled  with  the  thunder,  bellowed  long  and  loud  I 
Down  came  the  rain,  as  though  the  streams  on  high 
Had  burst  their  banks  and  overflowed  the  sky  ! 
And  sweeping  on  with  mighty  rush  and  beat 
And  roar  and  tramp  of  multitudinous  feet, 
Washed  off  the  world  and  left  it  fresh  and  sweet  ! 

Then  passed  the  storm,  and  left  us  such  a  night 
As  only  storms  can  leave  us  in  their  flight  ! 
So  bland  the  air,  that  all  the  sounds  seem  near, 
And  turn  to  music  on  the  quickened  ear; 
Even  from  the  hillsides  out  beyond  the  town, 
The  shouts  and  laughter  come  distinctly  down. 
Beyond  the  hills  huge  piles  of  cloud  are  blown, 
And  round  the  heavens  in  mountainous  masses  strown, 
For  miles  and  miles  the  cloudy  ruins  lie, 
Like  broken  hills  and  mountains  in  the  sky, 
As  though  an  earthquake,  reaching  from  below, 
Had  crushed  a  world  to  pieces  at  a  blow  ! 
And  clear  above  me,  rising  free  and  high, 
Sweeps  the  vast  wonder  of  the  endless  sky, 
Sprinkled  with  flying  worlds  that,  in  their  flight, 
Shine,  like  good  men,  to  give  each  other  light ! 
Thus,  in  the  busy  day,  one  world  alone 
Of  all  the  million  million  worlds  is  shown; 
But  in  the  night,  when  men  have  time  to  gaze, 
God  draws  the  curtain,  and  His  Heaven  displays  ! 
Far  off  a  light  shoots  down  the  azure  wall, 
(As  though  an  Angel  let  a  star-lamp  fall  !) 


1 6  CONSOLA  TION. 

While  the  great  starry  highway  built  through  space, 

Runs  off  to  some  remote  and  happy  place — 

Runs  up,  perchance,  to  God's  own  bright  abode 

In  the  sky's  centre  !  for  so  rich  is  God, 

He  builds  the  very  highway  to  His  throne, 

Of  worlds  more  grand  and  costly  than  our  own  ! 

Enough  !  enough  !     Yet  I  could  dwell  all  night, 
With  never- weary  and  supreme  delight, 
On  Nature's  beauty  and  the  joys  that  siir 
The  souls  of  those  who  give  their  love  to  her ! 


in. 
SONG. 

Ah,  bitterest  cup  of  all  !  that  thy  rich  power, 
Thy  gift  of  Song,  thy  more  than  regal  dower — 
Which  wins  thee  Fame  and  should  have  won  thee  Love — 
That  this  itself  thy  grief  and  shame  should  prove  ! 
How  didst  thou  look  to  this  high  gift  of  Song, 
To  win  thee  triumph  over  every  wrong, 
While  in  thy  heart  forever  rose  the  thought 
That  this  high  power  would  bring  thee  love  unsought. 

0  misplaced  love  !     Her  heart,  unskilled  and  hard, 
O'erlooked  the  Man  because  she  scorned  the  Bard  ! 

And  now,  beloved  friend,  whate'er  betide, 

1  do  entreat  thee  not  to  turn  aside, 

For  when  great  gifts  or  deeds  bring  grief  and  shame, 
Heaven  pays  us  back  in  wealth  of  love  and  fame  ! 
Whate'er  befall,  be  true  to  thy  own  heart, 


CONSOLA  T1ON.  \  7 

Nor  from  thy  Poet-Purpose  once  depart; 
And  gain,'  like  Bards  of  old,  the  power  divine 
To  put  a  life's  quintessence  in  a  line  ! 

O  grand  old  Bards  !  whose  fine-knit  souls  at  birth 
Were  dipped  in  beauty  !     How  they  walked  the  earth, 
Big  with  rich  thought  and  bursting  to  express  ! 
And  spake  to  music  those  high  thoughts  which  bless. 
In  words  that  strike  like  lightning,  (being  stung 
Or  touched  by  outrage),  from  a  fire-tipt  tongue, 
Satire  and  deathless  song  broke  forth  alive, 
Like  bees  and  honey  from  a  broken  hive  ! 
What  grip  of  brain  !  what  telescopic  eye  ! 
To  range  for  lofty  thoughts  through  earth  and  sky, 
To  hold  and  warm  and  shape  them  in  the  mind 
Into  eternal  life',  to  bless  mankind  ! 

There  is  no  power  like  the  power  to  sing; 
Be  thou  a  Poet  rather  than  a  King  ! 
Nor  let  this  disappointment  for  one  hour 
Turn  thee  aside  to  grasp  at  wealth  or  power. 
Stoop  not  at  all,  nor  ape  a  worldling  life, 
In  hope  to  win  a  worldling  for  a  wife; 
These  ask  the  Eagle,  made  for  lofty  flight, 
Likewise  to  be  an  Owl  and  hoot  at  night. 
Shun  the  whole  brood,  whate'er  their  rank  or  place, 
Who  turn  toward  the  world  a  smiling  face, 
While  in  their  charnel  hearts,  that  lie  behind, 
Dwell  evil  thoughts  and  lusts  of  every  kind. 
Like  jails  that  show  a  fair  front  to  the  street, 


1 8  CONSOLA  TION. 

With  yards  thick-set  with  shrubs  and  flowers  sweet, 

While  just  behind,  in  many  a  stony  cell, 

Barred  by  iron  grates,  the  thieves  and  murd'rers  dwell  ! 

Cling  to  thy  Muse,  and  her  strong  wings  shall  bear 
Thy  wounded  heart  above  this  brief  despair. 
O  precious  gift  of  Song  !  how  Bards  have  found 
In  their  own  lays  a  balm  for  every  wound: 

How  glows  the  heart  to  read  of  Olney's  Bard, 
With  fate  at  once  so  tender  and  so  hard, 
Who  fled  the  tumult  of  the  mad'ning  throng, 
And  led  a  life  more  precious  than  his  song — 
Who  made  the  Muse  a  refuge  in  despair, 
And  to  the  ages  laid  his  spirit  bare ! 
Men  called  him  mad,  yet  there  has  lived  no  man 
More  sane  in  spirit  since  the  world  began. 
How  wise  in  lowly  and  in  lofty  things  ! 
What  other  harp  so  full  of  holy  strings  ! 
His  misnamed  madness  was  the  Spirit's  way 
To  tune  the  lyre  for  an  immortal  lay  ! 

Arch-Poet  Milton,  when  his  sight  was  gone, 
And  age,  ill-health  and  penury  came  on, 
When  friends  fell  off  and  round  him  densely  rose, 
In  Church  and  State,  his  strong,  triumphant  foes, 
Dropped  the  iron  pen  that  on  the  nations  broke 
And  conquered  Europe  by  its  mighty  stroke, 
And  gave  his  soul  to  those  divine  delights 
Which  Poets  know  who  scale  celestial  heights — 


CONSOLATION.  19 

Turned  his  grand  face  from  all  his  bitter  foes, 
And  o'er  his  age  to  endless  glory  rose  ! 

O  Bard  divine  !  who  from  his  blooming  youth, 
Kept  himself  true  to  Beauty  and  to  Truth — 
Kept  himself  free  from  every  vice  and  crime, 
Therefore  God  filled  his  soul  with  thoughts  sublime, 
And  lit  within  his  breast  that  seraph  flame 
Which  filled  the  earth  and  heavens  with  his  fame  ! 


LOVE. 

How  shall  I  speak  of  that  which  dealt  the  blow  ? 
That  source  of  all  thy  shame  and  all  thy  woe  ? 
Yet  Love  itself  shall  be  the  cure  of  Love, 
And  heal  all  wounds  in  earth  and  heaven  above. 
Keep  faith  in  Love,  the  cure  of  every  curse — 
The  strange,  sweet  wonder  of  the  universe  ! 
God  loves  a  lover,  and,  while  time  shall  roll, 
This  wonder,  Love,  shall  save  the  human  soul  ! 
Love  is  the  heart's  condition;  grave  or  gay, 
And  youth  or  age,  alike  must  own  its  sway. 
Age  crowns  the  head  with  venerable  snow, 
But  Life  and  Love  forever  mated  go; 
Along  life's  far  frontier  the  aged  move, 
One  foot  beyond,  and  nothing  left  but  Love, 
And  when  the  Soul  its  mortal  part  resigns, 
The  perfect  world  of  Love  around  it  shines  ! 


2O  CONSOLATION. 

O  beauteous  dream  !  the  early  dream  of  Love  ! 
When  Heaven  runs,  through  channels  from  above, 
An  undercurrent  through  the  blooming  heart ! 
O  gray-beard  men  amid  the  busy  mart, 
How  would  ye  give  all  gain  ye  ever  knew 
To  wake  and  find  Youth's  dream  of  love  come  true  ! 
O  early  Love  !  far-streaming  up  life's  height, 
And  tinging  it  with  gold  and  purple  light, 
As  when,  at  dawn,  before  the  coming  sun, 
Far  up  the  sky  the  hues  of  morning  run  ! 
O  riper  Love  !  that  gives  a  rosy  hue 
To  all  men  suffer  and  to  all  they  do  ! 
Thou  one  true  joy!  or  when  or  where  thou  art, 
Strength,  inspiration,  bliss  of  every  heart  ! 

O  sweet  old  story !  told  ten  thousand  times 
In  honied  prose  and  in  delicious  rhymes, 
Forever  old  and  yet  forever  new, 
A  Fairy  Tale  forever  coming  true  ! 

My  splendid  friend  !   1  see  a  coming  day, 
When  from  thy  heart  this  cloud  shall  float  away — 
When  thou  shall  pass  far  up  the  shining  height, 
Thy  forehead  bathed  in  Fame's  eternal  light, 
And  at  thy  side  shall  walk  the  blessed  wife 
Whom  Heaven  shall  send  to  hallow  thy  pure  life, 
To  sweeten  every  cup  which  Fate  supplies, 
And  give  new  beauty  to  the  earth  and  skies; 
Thy  Counterpart,  with  tender  hands  endowed, 
To  smooth  thy  brow  and  brush  away  the  cloud, 
Be  Mother,  Sister,  Friend,  Companion,  Wife, 
And  in  a  sunrise  glory  bathe  thy  life  ! 


CON  SO  LA  TION.  2  I 

v. 
RELIGION. 

One  other  source  remains  to  soothe  thy  breast, 
The  one  Great  Comfort  which  includes  the  rest: 
Submit  thy  Sorrow  and  thy  Soul  to  God, 
And  learn  what  peace  it  is  to  kiss  His  rod, 
Who  answers  Wishes  ere  they  turn  to  Prayers, 
And  with  His  Blessing  takes  us  unawares — 
Who  girds  us,  though  we  know  Him  not,  and  stands 
Above  us  always  with  His  helping  hands. 
As  when  a  little  child,  returned  from  play, 
Finds  the  door  closed  and  latched  across  its  way, 
Against  the  door,  with  infant  push  and  strain, 
It  gathers  all  its  strength  and  strives  in  vain; 
Unseen  within  a  loving  father  stands 
And  lifts  the  iron  latch  with  easy  hands; 
Then,  as  he  lightly  draws  the  door  aside, 
He  hides  behind  it,  while,  with  baby  pride, 
And  face  aglow,  in  struts  the  little  one, 
Flushed  and  rejoiced  to  think  what  it  has  done  ! 
So  when  men  find,  across  life's  rugged  way, 
Strong  doors  of  Trouble  barred  from  day  to  day, 
And  strive  with  all  their  power  of  knees  and  hands, 
Unseen  within  their  Heavenly  Father  stands, 
And  lifts  each  iron  latch,  while  men  pass  through, 
Flushed  and  rejoiced  to  think  what  they  can  do  ! 

Turn  to  the  Helper,  unto  whom  thou  art 
More  near  and  dear  than  to  thy  mother's  heart, 
Who  is  more  near  to  thee  than  is  the  blood 


22  CONSOLATION. 

That  warms  thy  bosom  with  its  purple  flood — 
Who,  by  a  word,  can  change  the  mental  state, 
And  make  a  burden  light,  however  great ! 

O  Loving  Power!  that,  dwelling  deep  within, 
Consoles  our  spirits  in  their  woe  and  sin: 
When  days  were  dark  and  all  the  world  went  wrong, 
Nor  any  heart  was  left  for  prayer  or  song — 
When  bitter  Memory,  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
Revolved  the  wrongs  endured  from  fellow-men, 
And  told  how  hopes  decayed  and  bore  no  fruit, 
And  He  who  placed  us  here  was  deaf  and  mute! 
If  then  we  turned  on  God  in  angry  wise, 
And  scanned  his  dealings  with  reproachful  eyes, 
Questioned  His  goodness,  and,  in  foolish  wrath, 
Called  Hope  a  lie  and  ridiculed  our  Faith, 
Did  we  not  find,  in  such  an  evil  hour, 
That  far  within  us  dwelt  this  Loving  Power? 
No  wrathful  God  without  to  smite  us  down, 
Or  turn  His  face  away  with  angry  frown; 
But  in  the  bitter  heart  a  smile  began, 
Grew,  all  at  once,  within,  and  upward  ran, 
Broke  out  upon  the  face,  and,  for  a  while, 
Despite  all  bitterness,  we  had  to  smile! 
Because  God's  Spirit  that  within  us  lay, 
Simply  rose  up  and  smiled  our  wrath  away! 

This  love  endures  through  all  things,  without  end, 
And  every  soul  has  one  Almighty  Friend, 
Whose  Angels  watch  and  tend  it  from  its  birth, 
And  Heaven  becomes  the  servant  of  the  Earth! 


CONSOLA  TION.  2  3 

Whate'er  befall,  our  spirits  live  and  move 
In  one  vast  ocean  of  Eternal  Love! 
Sink  where  we  may,  we  sink  into  the  skies, 
Touch  God  in  sinking,  and  begin  to  rise! 

0  wondrous  race!  this  human  race  of  ours, 
So  small  in  space!  so  limited  in  powers! 

And  yet  so  formed  that  all  the  gods  above 
Are  drawn  toward  us  by  'resistless  love! 
Man  is  so  fashioned  that  his  faintest  sigh 
Draws  down  a  god  to  help  him  from  the  sky! 
Fav'rite  of  Heaven!  whom  Angels  strive  to  please! 
Borne  in  their  arms  and  dandled  on  their  knees! 
Creation's  Baby!  blest  amid  the  Curse! 
The  Pet  and  Darling  of  the  universe! 

"  Ah,  beauteous  faith!  my  friend,"  I  hear  thee  say, 
"  But  who  shall  take  this  bitter  cup  away?" 
He  who  prepared  it.     When  thy  quiv'ring  soul 
Has  drained  it  dry,  this  cup  may  make  thee  whole. 
Our  hearts  are  eggs,  and  God  must  break  the  shell 
To  get  the  treasure  which  He  loves  so  well. 

1  hold  these  sorrows  of  the  human  heart 
As  God's  supreme  and  never-failing  art 

To  round  us  into  Angels,  and  to  warm 
Our  throbbing  souls  to  some  diviner  form! 
As  on  some  Summer  night  along  the  sky, 
A  mountain-range  of  cloud  moves  slowly  by, 
Now  looming  dark,  and  now  with  fire  ablaze, 
As  o'er  the  floating  mass  the  lightning  plays; 


24  CONSOLATION. 

So  moves  the  soul  of  man,  now  dark,  now  bright, 
And  so  God  plays  upon  it  with  His  light! 

Yes,  beauteous  faith,  indeed,  a  faith  I  draw 
From  Human  Reason  and  Eternal  Law, 
And  not  from  man-made  creeds  of  long  ago, 
Contrived  by  men  whose  minds  were  crude  and  low. 

O  loving  God  of  Nature!-  who  through  all, 
Has  never  yet  betrayed  me  to  a  fall, 
While,  following  creeds  of  men,  I  went  astray, 
And  in  distressing  mazes  lost  my  way; 
But  turning  back  to  Thee,  I  found  Thee  true, 
And  sweet  as  woman's  love  and  fresh  as  dew! 
Henceforth  on  Thee,  and  Thee  alone,  I  rest, 
Nor  warring  sects  shall  tear  me  from  Thy  breast. 
While  others  doubt  and  wrangle  o'er  their  creeds, 
I  rest  in  Thee  and  satisfy  my  needs. 

As  some  huge  mountain  crowned  with  waving  pines, 
When  Winter  rages  or  when  Summer  shines, 
Still  lifts  its  head  unchanging  and  serene, 
Forever  rooted  and  forever  green; 
Though  on  its  head  the  furious  tempests  beat, 
And  whelming  torrents  thunder  round  its  feet! 
From  every  winter  and  from  every  storm 
It  still  comes  forth  more  beautiful  in  form, 
And  while  with  unmoved  feet  on  earth  it  stands, 
Amid  the  sky  its  peaceful  brow  expands; 
So  stands  the  man  whose  spirit  rests  upon 
That  Rock  of  Ages,  the  Eternal  One! 


CONSOLA  TION.  2  5 

When  Winter  rages,  still  his  leaves  are  green; 
When  tempests  beat,  his  soul  remains  serene; 
Whatever  wars  assail  or  thunders  roll, 
They  only  round  and  beautify  his  soul! 
And,  raised  above  the  strife  that  round  him  lies, 
He  stands  on  earth  with  head  amid  the  skies! 

But  seek  Him  not  in  human  creeds  and  shrines, 
When  through  all  Nature  everywhere  He  shines, 
When  in  thy  soul  He  dwells  to  answer  thee, 
To  prompt  and  warn,  to  guide  and  make  thee  free. 

Dear  Friend,  I  know  how  in  our  happier  days, 
Thy  generous  spirit  longed  for  love  and  praise; 
Both  shall  be  thine,  for  great  thy  fame  must  be, 
If  thou  wilt  use  the  gift  GoJ  gave  to  thee. 
But  far  above  all  search  for  human  Fame 
There  lies  a  nobler  and  diviner  aim, 
And  to  do  good  is  more  than  to  have  won 
All  Fame  that  can  be  won  beneath  the  sun. 

What  hosts  whose  powerand  fame  on  earth  are  vast, 
Shall  wake  beyond  obscure  and  weak  at  last, 
To  find  their  deeds  have  never  borne  their  fame 
Above  the  lower  plane  from  which  they  came  ! 
While  toiling  millions  who  are  meek  and  poor, 
Whose  lives  are  humble  and  whose  names  obscure, 
Shall  find  their  deeds  have  borne  their  fame  away 
To  Summer  lands  that  bask  in  endless  day! 
Poor  and  unknown  they  shall  lie  down  and  die, 
But  wake  up  rich  and  famous  in  the  sky, 


2  6  CON  SOL  A  TION. 

Pleased  and  surprised  to  find  their  names  are  known 
Through  .  the   bright   realms  around  the  Great  White 
Throne! 

As  once  I  sang,  again  I  sing  to-night 
Of  that  incoming  Day  whose  purer  light 
Already  fills  the  sky.     Even  now  the  sun 
Of  the  New  Age  is  up  and  day  begun: 

Roll  on,  O  slow-wheeled  Years!  and  bring  the  day 
When  men  shall  gather  wealth  to  give  away; 
And  spring  to  help  when  tempted  nature  falls, 
As  when  a  builder  drops  from  city  walls; 
When  to  do  good  alone  men  shall  be  bold, 
And  seek  out  Suffering  as  they  seek  for  Gold; 
When  Christian  women  shall  not  wipe  their  feet 
Upon  their  fallen  sisters  in  the  street; 
And  Calumny  shall  be  a  crime  unknown, 
And  each  shall  make  his  neighbor's  wrong  his  own! 

Be  gone!   O  Hate  and  Wrong  and  War,  be  gone! 
Roll  on  this  way,  O  Golden  Age!  roll  on! 
When  Men  and  Angels  face  to  face  shall  talk, 
And  Earth  and  Heaven  arm  in  arm  shall  walk — 
When  Love  shall  reign,  and  over  sea  and  shore 
The  Peace  of  God  shall  rest  for  evermore! 

Good  night,  my  Poet-Friend!  with  soul  on  fire, 
Filled  with  immortal  yearning  and  desire, 
I  write  my  thoughts  and  send  them  unto  thee, 
Across  the  mountains  to  the  distant  sea! 


THE   GHOST. 


THE  GHOST. 


27 


OR    POE  S     "  RAVEN        REVERSED. 


Once  at  night,  while   sitting  lonely  in  my  chamber, 

thinking  only 
Of  a  saintly  maid  who  left  me  in  the  happy  days  of 

yore, 
In  the  air  I  heard  a  snapping,  and  upon  the  walls  a 

rapping, 

Like  the  dripping,  dropping,  tapping,    of  the  rain 
drops  on  the  floor — 

Heard  a  measured,  muffled  dropping,  as  of  water  on 
the  floor — 

Heard  but  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Presently  the  sounds  drew  nearer,  and  the  drop,  drop, 

drop  grew  clearer, 

And  I  started  from   my  reverie  this  mystery  to  ex 
plore, 
While  I  said:  "'Tis  only  fancy,  yet  a  weirdness  in  it 

daunts  me, 
"And   perchance  some  Spirit  haunts   me,  coming 

from  some  ghostly  shore, 

"  Yet  no  ghost  from  out  that  realm  ever  came  to  me 
before, — 

"'Tis  caprice,  and  nothing  more." 


28  THE  GHOST. 

While  I  doubted  thus,  uncertain,  Something  rustled 

like  a  curtain, 

Or  a  woman's  silken  garment  touching  on  the  cush 
ioned  floor, 
And  I  felt  a  cold  wind  blowing,  like  the  chill  night  air 

inflowing, 
The  weird  source  of  which  not  knowing,  I  then 

cried,  in  wonder  sore: 

"Is  this  Fancy,  Fear,  or  Phantom  come  from  out 
some  ghostly  shore  ? 

"  Is  this  whim,  or  something  more  ?" 

Then  a  sense  of  Some  One  present,  and  a  thrill,  in 
tense,  but  pleasant, 
Broke  in  waves  upon  my  spirit,  like  the  waves  upon 

the  shore; 
And  a  nameless  terror  filled  me,  as  through  every  vein 

it  chilled  me, 
And  with  pain  and  pleasure  thrilled  me — thrilled  me 

to  my  being's  core  ! 

And  I  said:  "  This  strange  experience  is  no  Fancy,  I 
am  sure — 

"This  is  surely  something  more  !" 

Still  my  questioning  could  summon  no  response  from 

man  or  woman, 

And   the  stillness  now  grew  dreadful  as  the  thun 
der's  peal  and  roar, 

While  the  air  around  grewyellow,from  a  radiant  ghost 
ly  halo, 


THE   GHOST. 


29 


And  a  jasmine  fragrance  mellow  to  my  quickened 

nostrils  bore, 
And  an  opalescent  disk,  or  spot,  appeared  upon  the 

floor, 

Moving,  rising  more  and  more  ! 

Whence  a  luminous  mist  or  vapor,  shaped  and  shin 
ing  like  a  taper, 
Rose  upon  the  air  beside  me  and  the  carpet  floated 

o'er; 
And  this  radiant  Apparition  opened  like  a  flower  Ely- 

sian, 

And  I  saw  the  loveliest  Vision  ever  mortal  saw  be 
fore — 

For  there  stood  the  fairest  Ghost  that  ever  stood  by 
man  before — 

Stood  and  smiled,  and  nothing  more  ! 

Fashioned  like  a  maiden  slender,  and  with  luminous 

eyes,  and  tender, 
This  fair  Ghost  looked  out  upon  me  with  a  love 

divine  and  pure. 
" Comest  thou,"  I  said,  "to  charm  me?  for  I  know 

thou  canst  not  harm  me; 
"Who  and  whence  art  thou,  inform  me? — Phantom 

from  some  heavenly  shore  !" 

Then  this  Vision,  or  this  virgin  visitor,  from  some 
immortal  shore, 

Whispered,   "  Thine  Forevermore !" 


3O  THE   GHOST. 

Speechless,  then,  I  sat  and  pondered,  while  within  my 

heart  I  wondered 
Whether  this  were  one  who  left  me  in  the  days  that 

are  no  more — 
Whether  this  could  be  the  maiden  who,  when  Earth 

was  all  an  Eden, 
Which  we  roamed,  and  loved,  and  played  in,  quit 

my  side  and  went  before  ? 

And  she  knew  my  thought,  and  answered,   "  I  am 
she  that  went  before, 
,  "And  am  Thine  Forevermore  !" 

"Spirit,"  said   I,  "maid   immortal!    sent   this  night 

through  Heaven's  portal, 
"Tell  me,  is  our  love  eternal?"     "Yes,"  she  said, 

"  forever  sure, 
"  And  it  cannot  swerve  or  vary,   for  I  am   thy  True 

Love,  Mary, 
"And,  though  seeming  light  and  airy,  I  am  real,  as 

of  yore; 

"And  thy  spirit  ever  draws  me — I  anTwith  thee  ever 
more — 

"Thou  art  Mine  Forevermore  !" 

Suddenly,  with  transport  gifted,  into  rapturous  rapport 

lifted, 
With  her  glorious  spirit-womanhood  forever  young 

and  pure, 
"Angel !"  cried  I,  "do  not  leave  me — sure,  no  Angel 

could  deceive  me — 


THE   GHOST.  31 

"  Stay  until  I  can  believe  thee    and  my  doubting 

soul  assure  !" 
Then  she  breathed  upon  me  softly  and  she  answered 

as  before — 

"Thou* art  Mine  Forevermore  !" 

"Can  no  fate  this  union  sever  ?"  said  I.     And  she  an 
swered:  "Never  !  — 
"Not  till  God  and  thou  and  Angels  will  our  love 

to  be  no  more; 

"  For  True  Marriage  is  eternal,    and    True  Love  for 
ever  vernal, 
"And  each  soul  in  spheres  supernal  shall  its  own 

True  Mate  secure. 

"  We  are  Counterparts  eternal  and  must  love  for- 
evermore — 

"  We  are  One  Forevermore  !" 

"Warp  and  woof  we  are  inwoven,  and  our  Dual-Soul, 

uncloven, 
"In  the  Heavens  shall  be  One  Angel  to  aspire  and 

adore; 
"  And  if,  in  thy  dark  despairing,  thou  couldst  see  thy 

Home  preparing 
"  By  our  spirit-love  and  caring,  thou  wouldst  know 

despair  no  more; 

"And  thy  feet  shall  touch   the   table-lands   before 
earth-life  is  o'er, 

"And  shall  weary  Nevermore  !" 


32 


THE   GHOST. 


"  Spirit,"  said  I,   "  I  am  weary,  and  my  life  is  lone  and 

dreary, 
"And,  if  Heaven  has  given  thee  power,  take  me 

with  thee,  I  implore  !" 
"  Rest  must  come  by  Heaven's  bestowing,"  said  she, 

"  but,  when  Self  foregoing, 
"And  by  holy  deeds  outflowing,  thou  canst  do  the 

service  pure 

"  Which  the  Angel- World  assigns  thee,  thou   shalt 
join  me  on  this  shore, 

"And  be  with  me  Evermore  !" 

Seeing  then  my  disappointment,  she  out-poured  this 

spirit  ointment: — 
"Let  this  promise  be  thy  guiding-star  till  earthly  life 

is  a'er — 
"  That  I  love  and  cannot  grieve  thee,  and  I  never  can 

deceive  thee, 
"  I  will  never,  never  leave  thee,  and  will  help  thee 

to  endure; 

"All  that  mortal  love  can  do  for  thee,  that  will  I 
do,  and  more, 

"  I  will  help  thee  Evermore  !" 

"Angel!"   said    I,    "Ghost  or  Woman !    nothing  so 

divinely  human, 

"  Or  so  womanly  and  wifely,  ever  came  to  me  be 
fore  !" 

"  Love,"  she  said,   "  this  hour  is  glorious,  and  my  mis 
sion  is  victorious, 


THE   GHOST. 


33 


"  Now  no  power  can  ever  lure  us  from  our  blessed 
love  of  yore; 

"This  communion  is  the  way  to  Heaven,  and  Hea 
ven's  very  door — 

"  Love  is  Heaven  Forevermore  !" 


"Shall  our  life  be  calm  enjoyment?  shall  there  not  be 

high  employment 
"  For  our  fond  and  fervid  spirits  when  we  meet  to 

part  no  more?" 
"Yes,"  she   said,   "mankind   are  brothers,  and  our 

bliss  is  in  another's — 
"When    we   make   a  Heaven  for  others,   our  own 

Heaven  we  secure; 

"  Even  in  Heaven  life  is  effort,  but  our  strife  is  high 
and  pure — 

"  Life  is  effort  Evermore." 

"  Guardian,  guide  and  bride  forever,"  said  I,  "why did 

Heaven  dissever 
"  Our  young  lives  on  Earth  and  doom  me  to  a  fate 

so  lone  and  poor?'' 
"Love, "she  said,  "the  immortal  Powers  knew  that 

souls  endued  like  ours 
"  Blossom  best  to  perfect  flowers  when  the  one  is 

gone  before: 

"Thus  our  spirits  grow  to  harmony  and  love  which 
shall  endure, 

"  Ever  pure  and  Evermore  !" 


34 


THE   GHOST. 


Then  a  sense  of  her  devotion   thrilled  my  soul  with 

deep  emotion, 
And  I  said,    "  What  worthy  recompense  can  mortal 

man  restore  ?" 
"  Love,"  she  said,  "  'tis  mutual  giving,  each  upon  the 

other  living; 
"  I  am  spirit-food  receiving  when  thy  thoughts  are 

high  and  pure; 

"  Thus  the  two  worlds  on  each  other,  in  one  destiny 
secure, 

"  Are  dependent  Evermore  !" 

Touched  she  then  my  forehead   faintly,  with  her  vestal 

lips  and  saintly, 
In  a  holy  kiss  that  thrilled  me  to   my  spirit's  very 

core, 
And  she  said, ' '  The  strength  sustaining  this  revealment 

fast  is  waning, 
"  There  is  but  a  breath  remaining  till  our  interview  is 

o'er, 

"  But  remember  I  am  with  thee,  and  I  love  thee 
evermore — 

"Only  Love  Forevermore  !" 

Then  she  passed  into  the  vapor  shaped  and  shining 

like  a  taper, 
Shedding  o'er  my  soul  an  influence  which  shall  last 

forever  more; 
And   this  Maiden-Angel   lowly,  bright  and  beautiful 

and  holy, 


THE   GHOST.  35 

Left  a  glory  where  she  slowly,  slowly  melted  to  the 

floor, — 

Left  a  halo  and  a  glory  shining  there  upon  the  floor — 
Shining  there  Forevermore  ! 

And  that  Glory,  undeclining,  is  forever  shining,  shining, 
With  a  light  above  the  sunlight  there  upon  my  cham 
ber  floor; 
And  that  Light  my  soul  is  saving — in  that  Light  my 

soul  is  laving — 
All  the  ills  of  Time  out-braving  till  I  meet  her  on 

that  shore, 

And  my  soul  into  that   Heaven  which  is  imaged 
on  the  floor, 

Shall  be  lifted  Evermore  ! 


36  THE  NEW  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 


THE   NEW  ANNUS   MIRABILIS. 


THE    YEAR    OF    FAMINE    AND    FIRE. 

In  that  far  orient  realm  where  the  gales, 
Faint  with  their  loads  of  perfume  from  the  vales, 
That  Land  of  Roses,  long  by  poets  sung, 
Whose  tales  of  love  are  told  in  every  tongue; 
The  gaunt-faced  Famine  walks  abroad  to  smite, 
Like  one  who  smote  the  Assyrian  host  at  night. 
In  all  the  lovely  realms  round  Ispahan, 
The  people  throng  the  towns  with  faces  wan, 
And  faint  and  fall  in  fruitless  search  for  bread, 
And  fill  the  streets  and  highways  with  the  dead. 
The  very  flowers  that  in  the  valleys  blow, 
Die  on  their  stems  amid  the  general  woe, 
And  those  who  only  knew  to  scent  the  rose, 
Now  scent  the  dead  in  every  breeze  that  blows! 

Nor  yet  the  Old  World  feels  the  rod  alone, 
Above  the  giant  New  a  great  light  shone — 
Shone  like  the  Aurora  on  some  winter  night, 
And  half  the  world  beheld  the  lurid  light. 
On  woods  and  towns  a  fiery  tempest  beat, 
And  woods  and  towns  dissolved  with  fervent  heat, 
As  though  a  snow-storm  swept  along  the  lakes, 
With  flame  for  winds  and  red-hot  coals  for  flakes, 


THE  NEW  ANNUS  A1IRABILIS.  37 

Or  Heaven  had  sent  an  Angel  in  its  ire, 

And  set  the  very  winds  and  clouds  on  fire! 

Men,  fleeing  to  the  streams  and  lakes  to  save, 

Leaped  from  a  fiery  to  a  watery  grave, 

Some  plunged  down  wells  headlong  in  their  despair! 

The  Fire  pursued  them  down  and  killed  them  there; 

One  slew  his  children  in  the  mad  desire 

To  save  them  from  the  cruel  death  by  fire; 

One  heard  the  roar  and  hitched  his  team  and  fled, 

With  wife  and  little  ones  just  snatched  from  bed; 

The  flames  reached  up  behind  with  daggers  red, 

And  left  him  mad  and  fleeing  wjth  his  dead! 

Ten  score  of  men,  by  vengeful  flames  pursued, 

Fled  to  one  house  that  isolated  stood; 

The  flames  surround  them  like  a  troop  from  hell, 

And  touched  to  crisp  by  fiery  spears  they  fell! 

And  when  the  storm  of  fire  had  passed  away, 

A  thousand  dead  in  fields  and  cities  lay! 

While  to  and  fro  went  forth  the  Fiery  Power, 
Like  Satan,  seeking  whom  it  might  devour; 
It  came  one  night,  that  closed  a  day  of  rest, 
To  that  precocious  city  of  the  West; 
That  wonder  which,  by  some  Enchanter's  Wand, 
Rose  a  great  city  out  of  mud  and  sand; 
Sprang  forward  like  a  steed  and  came  abreast, 
And  passed  and  led  the  cities  of  the  West. 
As  though  in  some  remote  and  Western  wild, 
A  settler's  cabin-born  and  lusty  child, 
Should  spring  to  vigorous  manhood  in  an  hour, 
And  lead  the  greatest  in  the  race  for  power! 


38  THE  NEW  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

Fair  lay  the  city  on  that  Sabbath  night, 
With  many  a  lofty  spire  and  flaring  light, 
The  maiden  slept  with  white  hands  on  her  breast, 
The  mother  laid  her  little  ones  to  rest, 
The  lovers  kissed  by  many  a  cosy  fire, 
The  poor  man  dreamed  and  had  his  heart's  desire, 
The  rich  men  smiled  in  many  a  palace  home, 
And  thought  of  all  the  wealth  and  power  to  come, 
The  watchmen  in  the  streets  strode  up  and  down, 
Vain  of  their  power  to  keep  the  sleeping  town. 

The  Fire  looked  down  on  all  the  happy  scene, 
The  rows  of  blocks  with  lighted  streets  between, 
And  then,  descending  on  the  town,  became, 
In  a  dark  place,  a  little  torch  of  flame; 
Then,  spreading  right  and  left,  it  grew  and  grew, 
Exulting  in  the  deed  it  came  to  do! 
Steady  at  first  from  house  to  house  it  stept, 
Then  took  the  wind,  and  like  a  tempest  swept. 
On!  on!  it  sweeps  toward  the  heart  of  town; 
Street  after  street  of  massive  blocks  go  down! 
The  very  stone  walls  burst  to  sheets  of  flame, 
And  wood  and  iron  buildings  burn  the  same! 
Sometimes  with  greedy  haste  it  runs  unseen. 
Along  the  street  and  leaves  a  space  between; 
Enters  some  building  at  a  secret  place — 
At  every  window  shows  its  horrid  face, 
And  reaching  forth  a  thousand  hands  of  flame, 
And  all  around,  and  back  the  way  it  came, 
Fires  all  the  blocks  and  melts  the  towering  walls, 


THE  NEW  ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  39 

And  leaps  exulting  as  each  structure  falls! 

The  very  River  fails  its  march  to  stay; 

It  leaps  across  and  still  pursues  its  way! 

Melts  down  like  lead,  the  blocks  of  costly  piles, 

And  flames  and  rages  through  the  town  for  miles! 

And  now  it  turns  to  streets  it  left  behind, 

And  beats  back  spitefully  against  the  wind; 

Flies  in  the  rough  face  of  the  furious  blast, 

And  grasps  the  palace  homes  and  holds  them  fast; 

Holds  fast  the  rich  men's  homes,  nor  lets  them  go, 

Till,  leveled  with  the  rest,  it  lays  them  low! 

Thus  through  the  lurid  night  and  awful  day, 

Against  the  helpless  town  it  had  its  way; 

And  when  it  paused  to  count  its  trophies  o'er, 

The  ruined  structures  summed  a  thousand  score! 

While  thus  the  fire  on  things  insensate  wrought, 
Men  fought  at  first,  but  knew  in  vain  they  fought, 
Themselves  attacked,  they  quit  the  hopeless  strife, 
And  flee  through  all  the  flaming  streets  for  life; 
Some  quit  the  fiery  land  and  refuge  take, 
Amid  the  quenching  waters  of  the  lake; 
The  vengeful  Fire  that  cannot  pass  the  land, 
Strives  all  the  day  to  reach  them  where  they  stand, 
And  keeps  them  in  the  waves  and  strikes  at  them, 
With  long  white  arms  of  hot  and  spiteful  flame  ! 
Some  died  in  rooms  amid  the  roaring  hell, 
Some,  on  the  streets  surrounded,  gasped  and  fell, 
And  men  and  beasts  by  frantic  thousands  came, 
Scourged  through  the  scorching  streets  with   whips   of 
flame! 


40  THE  NEW  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

To  open  fields  and  paries  beyond  the  town, 

Where,  like  the  scattered  flocks,  they  laid  them  down, 

A  hundred  thousand  souls  from  shelter  driven — 

Their  bed  the  ground,  their  roof  the  stormy  heaven; 

And  there  from  icy  cold  and  sore  affright, 

The  feeble  perished  in  the  open  night! 

And  now  the  Pucks,  unknown  to  our  sires, 
That  girdle  earth  along  the  slender  wires, 
Took  their  slim  paths  that  stretched  on  every  hand, 
And  spread  the  cry  of  "  Fire  !"  through  the  land  ! 
In  all  the  startled  towns  the  people  ran, 
Succor  to  send  and  quick  relief  to  plan! 
Men,  women,  children,  gave  their  hard-earned  store, 
And  hands  reached  forth  to  help  from  every  door! 
Before  the  sun  went  down  and  closed  the  day, 
Long  thundering  trains  were  sweeping  on  their  way, 
Breaking  with  loads  of  raiment  and  of  food, 
To  save  the  stripped  and  hungry  multitude! 
Men  ran  to  all  the  stations  with  their  store, 
And  chid  because  the  trains  could  bear  no  more, 
Pursued  the  fleeing  cars  across  the  plains, 
And  threw  their  offerings  on  the  bursting  trains. 
Twas  not  one  City's,  but  the  Nation's  fire, 
Nay,  Europe's  self,  along  the  ocean  wire, 
Reached  up  a  hand  to  save,  nor  reached  alone, 
The  whole  world  joined  and  made  the  fire  its  own; 
And  men  rejoiced  that,  o'er  the  strife  and  din, 
A  great  distress  could  make  the  whole  world  kin! 


THE  NEW  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

Thus  fell  Chicago!  but  above  the  plain 
A  greater  city  she  shall  rise  again, 
Cleansed  by  the  Fire  from  germs  of  foul  decay, 
And  moral  plagues  and  follies  burned  away. 
As  when  the  fire  fell  on  London  town, 
And  raged  for  days,  and  smote  the  city  down, 
It  burned  the  dens  where  pestilence  was  bred, 
And  caught  the  Plague  itself  and  struck  it  dead! 
In  mercy  sent,  it  burned  the  curse  away, 
And  cleansed  the  city  to  this  very  day! 


MINNESOTA. 


MINNESOTA. 


READ    AT   THE    CELEBRATION    OF    THE     2OOTH     ANNIVER 
SARY   OF   THE    DISCOVERY    OF    ST.    ANTHONY    FALLS, 
MINNEAPOLIS,    JULY    3,     l88o. 


Down  these  great  rocks  the  mighty  river  poured, 
And  like  an  endless  tempest  beat  and  roared, 
Ages  on  ages  of  uncounted  years, 
Before  its  thunder  fell  on  human  ears; 
In  one  great  song  that  made  the  woods  rejoice, 
Praising  its  Maker  with  a  ceaseless  voice  ! 
Then  the  Mound  Builders  came,  with  awkward  toil, 
And  built  their  mounds  and  tilled  the  barbarous  soil, 
Yoked  the  wild  bison  to  some  uncouth  plow, 
And  cleft  the  rivers  with  a  birchen  prow. 
Then  came  the  Red  Man,  stoical  and  brave, 
Of  whom  no  power  on  earth  can  make  a  slave, 
True  to  the  true,  and  good  toward  the  good, 
And,  like  his  Christian  brother,  spilling  blood. 
Human  as  we,  whate'er  his  savage  arts, 
For  veins  of  gold  run  through  his  heart  of  quartz  ! 
Here  round  the  Falls  he  built  his  rude  tepee, 
Made  love  and  danced  and  fought  and  died  as  we. 
And  centuries  went  by,  and  then  there  came, 
For  love  of  Mother  Church  and  France  and  Fame, 
The  man  who  gave  the  Falls  their  saintly  name. 


MINNESOTA.  43 

O  Priests  !  destined  to  pierce  the  wilderness, 
Yours  to  explore  and  ours  to  possess, 
Yours  to  uplift  the  cross  by  every  stream, 
And  ours  to  build  and  realize  your  dream ! 

Anon  the  Saxon  came,  whose  iron  hand, 
Has  one  strong  finger  laid  on  every  land, 
Who  through  his  loom  runs  all  the  threads  of  race, 
And  leaves  a  grander  Saxon  in  his  place. 

The  doughty  Dutchman  from  his  dykes  escaped, 
With  wives  and  ships  to  one  plump  model  shaped, 
Spreads  round  the  Hudson  in  phlegmatic  ease, 
And  smokes  his  pipe  and  trades  to  every  breeze; 
The  gifted  Frenchman,  panting  to  be  free, 
And  smit  with  love  of  fame  and  liberty, 
Kisses  Columbia  on  her  river  mouth, 
And  builds  his  New  World  Paris  in  the  south; 
The  swarthy  Spaniard  plants  his  homes  and  vines 
Where  down  the  coast  the  yellow  metal  shines, 
And  counts  his  beads  and  tells  his  herds  and  flocks, 
Till  at  his  door  the  sturdy  Saxon  knocks; 
But  build  where'er  they  may,  they  build  in  vain, 
The  land  is  not  for  Holland,  France  nor  Spain; 
The  all-absorbing  Saxon,  East  or  West, 
Like  Aaron's  serpent-rod,  devours  the  rest; 
His  tongue  and  faith,  his  name  and  laws,  he  leaves 
On  every  soil  his  conq'ring  plow-share  cleaves. 

Yet,,  blood-stained   Saxon  !    storming  round  the 

world 
With  battle-ax,  and  bloody  flag  unfurled, 


44 


MINNESOTA. 


Cleaving  the  skull  of  every  weaker  race, 
Shall  not  God's  lightning  smite  you  on  the  face  ? 
Beware  !  for  though  the  Red  man  finds  no  God 
To  keep  his  waning  race  above  the  sod, 
Yet  every  wrong  to  white  or  black  or  red, 
Falls  back  at  last  upon  the  culprit's  head. 
For  every  Black  Man  killed  in  Slavery's  name, 
Two  White  Men  perished  when  the  crisis  came, 
And  twice  the  wealth  amassed  by  unpaid  toil, 
Went  down  in  war's  grim  waste  and  debt  and  spoil ! 
And  is  the  Red  Man,  though  foredoomed  to  fall, 
Less  dear  to  Him  who  made  and  loves  us  all  ? 

Now  came  the  time,  (so  near  it  seems  to  stand 
That  one  might  almost  reach  it  with  his  hand,) 
When  the  great  human  tide  rolled  up  the  strand, 
And  bird  and  beast  and  savage  fled  the  land  ! 
And  lo  !  the  infant  Lowell  of  the  West, 
Lay  like  a  Fondling  on  the  prairie's  breast ! 

To-day  the  child,  to  stalwart  manhood  grown, 
Has  won  a  name  that  round  the  world  is  known  ! 
I  see  the  tow'ring  stack  that  cleaves  the  air, 
The  pond'rous  engine-stroke,  the  furnace-glare, 
And  hear  the  roar  of  trade,  the  whirr  of  wheels, 
The  buzz  of  saws,  the  hum  of  giant  mills. 
On  every  wind  is  heard  the  signal  scream 
Of  iron  chariots  made  alive  by  steam, 
While,  like  great  shuttles,  flashing  to  and  fro, 
And  ever  in  and  out,  they  come  and  go, 


MINNESOTA. 


45 


As  in  this  warp  they  weave  the  woof  of  wealth, 
And  through  our  commerce  pour  the  blood  of  health. 
Forth  from  this  mart,  through  empires  near  and  far, 
Flies  the  iron  chariot  and  the  thund'ring  car, 
Like  some  great  Dragon  from  the  Furies  hurled, 
Yoked  to  a  Juggernaut  to  crush  the  world  ! 
Fleet  as  the  arrow  from  the  Red  Man's  bow, 
Down  through  the  vales  and  up  the  steeps  they  go, 
Dive  through  the  hills,  and,  bursting  forth  again, 
Shout  to  the  busy  towns  and  shake  the  plain  ! 

Fit  place  to  meet !  fit  day  to  celebrate  ! 
Here,  at  the  heart  of  this  great  Summit  State, 
Which,  like  a  mountain-peak,  exalted  high, 
Bathes  her  pure  forehead  in  the  azure  sky; 
Whence  all  the  streams,  as  from  a  mountain  crest, 
Flow  down  to  South  and  North,  to  East  and  West; 
All  ways  lead  downward  from  her  upland  height, 
All  ways  lead  up  to  her  ideal  site. 
The  Pivot  State  !  on  which  shall  turn  and  rest 
The  balanced  continent,  when  East  and  West 
And  North  and  South  shall  teem  with  human  hands 
As  dense  as  those  that  toil  in  Asian  lands; 
For  up  to  us,  so  Nature  has  decreed, 
From  every  point  the  water  highways  lead  ! 
The  Water  State  !  from  whose  pure  fountains  rise 
Ten  thousand  lakes  that  mirror  back  the  skies. 
Mother  of  Giant  waters  !  who  gives  birth 
To  the  two  Mammoth  Rivers  of  the  earth  ! 
Grandmother  of  the  Waters  !  mighty  dame  ! 
From  whom  the  Father  of  the  Waters  came  ! 


46  MINNESOTA. 

Far  to  the  North  the  healthy  mother  takes 
In  her  clean  arms  the  crystal  streams  and  lakes, 
And  into  one  great  river  gives  them  form ; 
Then  pours  it  southward,  like  a  bridled  storm  ! 
Here,  at  our  side,  it  thunders  down  the  Fall, 
And  far-off  rivers  hear  the  mighty  call, 
And  from  a  thousand  miles  come  sweeping  free, 
To  join  the  glorious  march  toward  the  sea  ! 
And  give  their  all  to  swell  one  river  tide, 
Where  the  vast  commerce  of  the  world  may  ride  ! 

Again  she  takes  the  myriad  water-skeins 
Of  lakes  and  streams  from  northern  woods  and  plains, 
And  spins  from  them  a  sea-like  tide  that  pours 
The  grandest  stream  that  laves  terrestrial  shores, 
Which,  flowing  down  the  world  toward  the  East, 
By  rivers,  lakes,  and  thread-like  brooks  increased, 
Expands  its  tide  to  five  stupendous  lakes, 
And  four  great  rivers  in  its  progress  makes, 
Till  far  away  it  leaps  the  world's  great  Fall, 
And  beats  its  way  to  sea  at  Montreal  ! 

Here,  wise  men  say,  who  look  with  prescient  eye, 
Shall  the  great  seat  of  future  empire  lie. 
Here  springs  the  Dual  City,  which  shall  fill 
The  plain  for  miles,  and  cover  every  hill ! 
Playmates  in  childhood,  hand  in  hand  they  went, 
And  grew  and  loved  till  their  glad  youth  was  spent. 
Soon  shall  the  nuptials  come,  and  man  and  wife 
Go  forth  one  flesh  to  one  illustrious  life, 


MINNESOTA.  47 

And  nations  see  the  twain  to  wedlock  given, 
And  say,   "  Behold,  a  marriage  made  in  Heaven  1" 

Now,  while  the  Muse  withdraws  the  veil,  I  see 
The  wondrous  vision  of  what  is  to  be; 
For  miles  and  miles  along  the  river  banks 
The  blocks  of  commerce  tower  in  massive  ranks, 
A  thousand  domes  are  flashing  in  the  sun, 
A  thousand  streets  between  the  structures  run, 
Down  which  I  see  a  human  ocean  pour 
With  rush  and  surge  and  beat  and  stormy  roar, 
And  far  around  the  river  wharves  and  slips, 
Like  a  dead  forest,  rise  the  masts  of  ships; 
For  now,  through  channels  made  by  human  hand, 
The  seas  and  lakes  and  rivers  of  the  land, 
Are  linked  together,  and,  with  flags  unfurled, 
The  ships  come  up  from  all  the  busy  world  I 

And  now  the  scene  expands  beneath  my  eyes, 
I  see,  far  out,  a  mile-long  depot  rise, 
Where,  with  a  great  and  never-ceasing  din, 
The  long-drawn  trains  from  all  the  world  come  in  ! 
Far  to  the  North  I  see  a  great  train  glide, 
And  sweep  across  to  the  Pacific  side, 
And,  turning  northward,  through  the  Polar  gate, 
Thrid  a  long  tunnel  under  Behring's  Strait; 
Then  shout  to  Asia,  and  go  thundering  down 
Through  many  an  old  and  many-peopled  town, 
And  fleeing  westward  through  a  hundred  States, 
O'er  classic  streams  and  under  tunneled  straits, 


48  MINNESOTA. 

Rise,  screaming,  from  the  ground  on  Britain's  shores, 
And  London,  sea-like,  round  it  breaks  and  roars  ! 

Around  these  Falls,  if  we  believe  the  wise, 
The  world's  great  Capital  may  yet  arise  ! 
One  constitution  then  shall  join  mankind, 
And  rights  before  obscure,  be  well  denned, 
And  here,  from  year  to  year,  in  all  men's  cause, 
The  world  shall  meet  to  frame  its  general  laws  ! 

The  day  dawns  now  in  which  our  sons  shall  view 
The  place  we  builded  better  than  we  knew; 
For  we  shall  build  the  City  of  the  Free — 
The  heart  of  man's  great  State — which  is  to  be. 
The  Capital  of  Men,  and  not  of  Kings, 
Where  Toil  and  Merit  are  the  honored  things, 
Whose  halls  of  learning  and  of  art  shall  rise, 
Free  as  the  air,  to  make  the  many  wise, 
And  o'er  whose  domes  the  flag  shall  be  unfurled 
Of  one  United  States  of  all  the  World  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN.          49 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS  VEIN. 


RESURRECTION. 

Up  comes  the  winter  morning  sun, 

And  out  of  the  North  the  winter  breeze, 

And  the  big  pale  moon  away  in  the  West, 
Is  hiding  behind  the  trees. 

Dim,  thin  and  pale,  on  the  rim  of  the  hills, 

It  sinks  away  from  the  sight, 
Like  the  vanishing  ghost  of  a  splendid  World 

That  died  in  the  sky  last  night. 

The  winter  sun  is  gone  to  his  grave 
In  the  West,  like  a  king  that  died, 

And  the  big  bright  moon  comes  up  the  East, 
Redeemed  and  glorified. 

There  is  no  Death:  nor  in  the  grave 
Shall  anything  that  lived  remain; 

And  moons,  and  stars,  and  suns,  and  men, 
That  set  shall  rise  again  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN. 


OUR  SHIPS. 

In  those  bright  summer  mornings  when  I  row 
Far  out,  with  winds  and  waters  sweeping  free, 

Among  the  stately  boats  that  come  and  go, 
I  join  the  toy-ships  going  out  to  sea; 

Each  little  ship  propelled  by  paper  sails, 

And  given  with  shouts  to  billows  and  to  gales  ! 

Ah,  happy  boys  !  that  launch  your  ships  away, 
Playing  the  merchant  long  before  your  time, 

We  men  are  like  you  to  our  dying  day, 
Still  sending  ships  to  every  distant  clime. 

And  while  to  have  them  back  we  watch  and  yearn, 

You  send  them  forth  and  look  for  no  return. 

In  youth  our  ships  for  rosy  LOVE  we  sent, 

(Long  since  they  went  in  those  glad  days  of  old), 

Some  went  for  Fame,  and  some  for  Power  went, 
And  then  we  sent  whole  fleets  to  bring  us  Gold; 

And  of  all  the  ships  we  sent  across  the  main, 

Not  one  in  thousands  came  to  us  again. 

But  I  believe  our  ships  are  gone  before, 
Gone  to  that  Better  Land  to  which  we  go; 

There,  one  by  one,  they  gather  to  the  shore, 
Blown  safely  in  by  all  the  winds  that  blow. 

And  we  shall  find  them  on  some  Happy  Day, 

Moored  fast,  and  waiting  in  the  Golden  Bay  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN.  51 


RETROSPECTION. 

He  sits  by  the  way  and  weeps, 

Worn  out  in  his  search  for  the  Truth, 
Looking  back  at  the  hills  and  the  blue  mountain  tops 

In  the  Beautiful  Land  of  his  Youth. 

There  is  many  a  grave  by  the  way, 

Where  he  buried  his  Hopes  as  they  died, 

And  the  suffering  which  came  with  the  years 
Has  humbled  his  heart  of  its  pride. 

The  rich  in  their  chariots  roll  by, 

They  have  acres  and  money  in  heaps, 
And  they  laugh  at  the  poor  weary  man 

Who  sits  by  the  way  and  weeps. 

But  he  heeds  not  their  scorn  and  neglect, 

As  he  thinks  of  the  far-away  goal, 
And  dreams  that  his  youth  may  return 

In  some  beautiful  land  of  the  Soul. 

And  he  sits  by  the  way  and  weeps, 

Worn  out  in  his  search  for  the  Truth, 
Looking  back  at  the  hills  and  the  blue  mountain  tops 

In  the  Beautiful  Land  of  his  Youth. 


5 1       POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS  VEIN, 


A  DREAM. 


Alone  at  night  I  read  the  Atheist's  creed, 
And,  as  I  read,  I  fell  asleep  and  dreamed 
A  wondrous  dream: 

Upborne  upon  a  cloud, 

And  floating  far  through  planet-peopled  space, 
I  joined  the  grand  procession  of  the  worlds. 
Above,  below,  around,  the  glorious  stars 
Moved  in  supernal  measures  to  sweet  sounds 
Heard  by  the  inner  ear. 

And  suddenly 

I  heard  a  crushing,  splitting,  splintering  crash, 
Loud  as  ten  thousand  thunder-claps,  and  saw 
The  Universe  give  way  !     The  shining  worlds 
Shot  from  their  orbits  !     Mad  world  meeting  world 
In  hideous  collision,  burst  and  poured 
Oceans  of  red-hot  lava  down  the  skies  ! 

Then  ceased  all  sound,  all  light,  all  being  ceased, 
Save  I,  alone;  in  horror  and  dismay, 
In  utter  silence,  utter  darkness  left, 
Down  weltering  alone  in  endless  space  ! 
And  sinking,  sinking,  sinking,  sinking  down, 
I  called  for  succor  with  the  mightiest  cry 
That  ever  broke  from  any  human  soul  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN.  53 

Far  through  the  darkness,  then,  I  saw  a  light 
Coming  toward  me,  and  the  cloud  returned 
Below,  and  bore  me  up  and  changed  my  dream. 


n. 

Again  I  dreamed  I  saw  the  Universe 
Far  floating,  anchored  to  the  throne  of  God; 
And  Space,  which  seems  so  void  to  outward  eyes, 
Was  thickly  peopled.     All  the  Universe 
Was  one  great  city.     Streets  of  golden  light 
Went  forth  to  every  world,  and  all  the  streets 
Were  thronged  with  shining  beings,  thick  as  motes 
That  float  in  sunbeams,  who  went  to  and  fro 
Among  the  peopled  worlds  to  teach  and  help. 
With  joy  I  saw  that  each  world  was  a  house 
In  the  Great  City  of  our  Father,  God, 
And  in  each  house  one  family,  guarded  by 
A  multitude  of  spirits,  whose  delight 
And  constant  mission  was  to  minister. 

And  thereupon,  that  inner,  radiant  Love, 
With  which  all  space  was  palpitant  and  warm, 
Came  over  me,  and  in  a  semi-swoon 
Of  sleep  in  sleep,  I  sank  to  rosy  depths 
Of  deep  and  blissful  rest,  and  dreamed  no  more. 


54 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN. 


COME  CLOSE. 

Come  close,  my  child  !   the  tempest  rages  high — 
Come  close  to  me  until  it  passes  by; 
I  guide  the  winds  and  lightnings  by  my  hand — 
Come  close,  there  is  no  tempest  where  I  stand. 

Come  close,  my  child  !     Your  love  is  not  in  vain, 
Though  unreturned,  and  yielding  bitter  pain; 
Come  close  to  me,  my  child  !  and  find,  indeed, 
The  one  true  Friend  and  Lover  whom  you  need. 

Come  close  to  me,  my  child  !     I  know  your  shame; 
I  know  what  tongues  are  busy  with  your  name; 
I  know  how  lone  and  friendless  you  shall  be, 
Come  close,  and  find  companionship  in  me. 

Come  close  to  me,  my  child  !  and  do  not  weep — 
Your  loved  ones  are  not  dead,  but  taking  sleep; 
After  their  toil  they  need  refreshing  rest, 
Come  close,  and  find  them  sleeping  on  my  breast. 

Come  close,  my  child  !  whatever  may  befall, 
And  find  relief  and  comfort  through  it  all; 
In  every  trouble,  and  forevermore, 
Come  close  to  me,  my  child  !  and  be  secure  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN.  55 

LIFE. 

A  mystery  to  himself  is  man, 

His  strangest  thought  is  that  he  is; 
Dismayed,  he  strives  in  vain  to  scan 

How  came  this  awful  life  of  his. 
Whence  and  what  are  we  ?     Whither  tend 
These  lives  that  seem  in  death  to  end  ? 
Real  or  unreal,  howe'er  it  seem, 
God  is,  or  there  could  be  no  dream. 

Still  the  old  search  goes  on,  and  all 

The  Universe,  from  pole  to  pole, 
Sprinkled  with  worlds,  man  finds  too  small 

To  fill  and  satisfy  the  soul. 
The  heart  grows  weary  of  Earth's  joys, 
And,  like  a  babe  fatigued  with  toys, 
Casts  them  aside  in  sighing  mood, 
And  reaches  out  its  hands  to  God. 

Reaches,  and  finds  in  Duty  done, 

In  loving  help  to  human  kind; 
Who  stoops  and  lifts  a  fallen  one, 

His  own  soul  lifted  up  shall  find. 
Who  clothes  and  feeds  a  brother  man, 
And  brings  warm  blood  to  faces  wan, 
Shall  find  his  own  soul  clothed  and  fed, 
And  Heaven  dawn  in  him,  rosy  red. 

But  not  to  Bliss  shall  men  attain 

In  this  harsh  school  of  growth  and  strife; 


56  POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN, 

Yet,  having  won  by  toil  and  pain, 

Who  shall  regret  the  pangs  of  life  ? 
Who  would  regret  the  Past's  long  Night, 
With  all  its  fear  and  chill  and  blight, 
If  now  the  East,  through  twilight  gray, 
Were  streaked  with  Everlasting  Day  ? 

God  lifts  the  soul  or  casts  it  down, 

And  schools  it  in  His  own  wise  way, 
And  fits  it  to  receive  a  crown, 

In  some  great  Coronation  Day. 
Hope  cries,  "  Rejoice  !  thou  shalt  be  blest 
Faith  cries,  "  Whate'er  befall  is  best; 
"  Come,  drink  the  sweet  or  bitter  cup, 
"And  suffer  on  and  struggle  up." 


HUMILIATION. 

This  gifted  man,  beloved  by  all  who  know  him, 
Learned,  religious,  beautiful  and  brave, 

Is  yet  in  darkness,  as  the  Heavens  will  show  him, 
And  bend  him  to  the  dust,  but  bend  to  save. 

The  Spirit  dwells  in  him,  yet  by  its  side, 

In  royal  state  enthroned,  are  Self  and  Pride. 

Therefore  shall  come  long  years  of  sore  affliction, 
Of  pain  and  pleading  underneath  the  rod; 

Self  must  be  conquered  ere  the  Benediction 
Can  rest  upon  him  from  a  jealous  God. 

Only  the  humble  head  can  wear  God's  crown, 

And  Heaven,  to  win  a  soul,  must  bring  it  down  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS  VEIN. 


GOD'S  GARDEN. 

There  is  a  spot  of  holy  ground 

Beyond  the  city  lying — 
A  Garden,  where  there  is  a  sound 

Of  birds  and  breezes  sighing. 

And  in  that  Garden,  side  by  side, 
The  beds  are  heaped  and  slanted, 

And  in  each  long  and  narrow  bed 
A  deathless  seed  is  planted. 

A  thousand  beds  are  there;  the  rows 

Are  cut  by  paths  asunder; 
By  each  a  stone  is  set,  that  shows 

What  seed  is  waiting  under. 

And  bleeding  hearts  through  all  the  strife, 
Believe  and  hope,  while  praying, 

That  forming  to  immortal  life, 
On  earth  is  named  decaying — 

And  that  an  Endless  Day  shall  rise, 

And  bring  a  Morning  Hour, 
When  from  each  seed  that  waiting  lies, 

Shall  spring  a  living  flower; — 

A  flower  that  shall  never  fade, 

From  blight  or  winter  hoary, 
But  grow  and  blossom  on,  arrayed 

In  everlasting  glory; — 


57 


58          POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN. 

That  each  shall  be  a  bloom  so  rare, 
And  with  such  beauty  swelling, 

That  God  shall  want  a  flower  so  fair 
In  his  Eternal  Dwelling — 

And  that  His  Holy  Ones  shall  come, 
In  that  Illustrious  Morning, 

And  plant  them  in  a  Happy  Home, 
To  bloom  for  its  adorning  ! 


ECSTASY. 

Whence  all  this  wondrous  beauty  in  the  skies? 

And  earth  transformed,  transfigured,  born  anew  ? 
Why,  every  zephyr  smells  of  Paradise  ! 

And  Heaven  itself  hangs  round  the  mountains  blue 
All  my  pure  hopes  and  visions  cherished  long, 

All  my  youth's  rapture,  and  its  purpose  high, 
Come  crowding  through  my  heart,  as  a  great  throng 

Crowds  through  a  street  to  see  a  Queen  pass  by! 
I  know  not  how  was  wrought  this  change  so  bright, 

But  while  I  prayed,  and  deemed  myself  alone, 
I  had  a  sense  of  Presence,  and  a  Light 

Before  my  dazzled  eyes  a  moment  shone  ! 
Then  all  my  soul  with  mystic  love  was  filled, 
And  waves  of  rapture  through  my  being  thrilled  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN. 


THE  RACE. 

Whatever  may,  in  Time,  befall, 
Must  end  in  love  and  right  at  last; 
To-day  is  better  than  the  Past, 

And  Love  must  own  and  govern  all. 

This  Love,  while  individual  men 
And  states  go  down,  has  set  its  face 
To  bring  perfection  to  the  Race, 

And  men  and  states  shall  fall  till  then. 

As  if  some  world  in  space  should  grope 
And  wander  in  a  depth  of  Night, 
And  feel  the  drawing  of  the  light, 

And  suffer  on  in  fear  and  hope, 

And  find  at  length  its  central  sun 
And  destined  orbit,  and  foraye 
Roll  onward,  bathed  in  perfect  day, 

With  bliss  achieved  and  suffering  done; 

So  gropes  the  Race  in  search  of  God, 
And  in  the  darkness  feels  a  hand; 
And  yet  shall  reach  the  destined  land, 

And  enter  in  some  blest  abode. 

God  sees  more  far  than  planets  roll, 
Nor  weary  grows,  nor  faint  at  heart, 
And  that  to  Him  is  but  a  part 

Which  to  our  sight  appears  the  whole. 


59 


60          POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN. 

And  from  earth's  dust  and  toil  and  strife, 
And  from  life's  transient  pains  and  cares, 
The  Race  constructs  the  unseen  stairs, 

And  climbs  into  the  perfect  life. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MESSAGE. 

My  little  patient,  gone  so  soon  before, 
To  that  mysterious,  much-desired  shore; 
When  you  come  there,  where  yet  I  hope  to  be, 
What  will  you  tell  our  Blessed  Lord  for  me  ? 
Will  you  remember  I  was  kind  to  you  ? 
And  tell  Him  all  the  good  I  sought  to  do  ? 

Or  will  you  tell  him  I  am  bruised  and  sore  ? 

And  that  my  heart  is  tender  to  the  core? 

Or  will  you  ask  Him  to  remove  my  pain, 

And  give  my  darlings  back  to  me  again  ? 

Nay,  tell  him  this — that  I  was  kind  to  you, 

And  how  I  wrought  my  best  to  bring  you  through. 

And  then,  amid  the  grief  I  cannot  tell 
To  any  man,  but  which  He  knows  so  well, 
He  may,  perhaps,  bestow  a  peaceful  heart, 
Until,  like  you,  He  calls  me  to  depart. 
Remember  me  to  Him,  whate'er  you  do, 
And  tell  Him,  dear,  that  I  was  kind  to  you. 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN.    •      6 1 


HORTATUS. 

Knock  off  the  chains  of  Doubt,  desponding  Youth  ! 

Who  cannot  see  or  know  must  walk  by  Trust; 
Our  blinded  souls,  that  yet  may  see  the  Truth, 

Are  wrapped  by  God's  own  hand  in  clouds  of  living 
dust. 

We  feel  He  is,  we  cannot  understand; 

We  call  and  search,  and  call  again,  and  weep, 
Like  children  lost  at  night,  until  a  hand 

Takes  theirs,  and  leads  them  safe  through  forests 
wild  and  deep. 

There  is  a  life  beyond,  else  life  on  earth 
And  Hope  are  given  a  dying  soul  to  mock; 

Why  freight  the  ship  with  gems  of  priceless  worth, 
If  in  Oblivion's  sea  we  strike  Death's  awful  rock? 

Life  is  worth  living;  Nature  still  is  true; 

Through  every  wreck  and  change  the  soul  remains; 
And  Love  is  not  a  fleeting  sunset  hue, 

Nor  false  and  phantom  isle  that  looms  on  desert 
plains. 

Strive  on,  while  struggling  up  the  Alp  of  Time, 
Though  rocks  betray,  and  avalanches  fall; 

Such  chances  fill  with  poetry  sublime 
The  epic  of  each  life — and  they  must  come  to  all, 


62  POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN. 

Endure,  though  Sorrow  claim  thee  as  her  own, 
Though  on  thy  heart  her  burdens  ever  lie; 

The  heavens  are  fairest  when  the  clouds  lie  strown, 
Like  snow-clad  mountains  far  around  the  summer 
sky. 

Obey  that  inner  Voice,  which  is  God's  law, 
And  cultivate  the  peace  a  good  deed  brings; 

A  smiling  Conscience  makes  a  bed  of  straw 

Soft  as  the  siken  couch  of  Emperors  and  Kings  ! 


DARKNESS  AND  DOUBT. 

It  was  a  day  of  darkness  and  of  doubt, 

Like  those  which  desperate  men  refuse  to  live, 
And,  in  my  anguish,  I  could  not  forgive 

The  Fate  which  seemed  to  bring  it  all  about. 

In  gloom  I  sat  and  nursed  my  misery  still, 
With  stolid  face  toward  the  pictured  wall, 
When  on  my  head,  and  pouring  over  all, 

A  flood  of  sunlight  through  the  window  fell. 

I  moved  into  the  shade,  and  nursed  my  doubt, 
Till  through  another  window  fell  the  light; 
Then  the  glad  thought  broke  on  me,  clear  and  bright, 

That  thus  God's  love  would  always  seek  me  out. 
All  darkness  and  all  doubt  must  pass  away, 
And  every  night  that  falls  must  end  in  day. 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN.  63 


VERY  GOOD. 

Last  night  I  dreamed  I  saw  a  light 
Flame  up  the  East,  as  red  as  blood, 

And  on  the  sky,  in  letters  bright, 

These  words  were  written,   "  Very  Good  !" 

Whatever  this  strange  dream  may  mean — 

Promise  of  good,  or  omen  ill, 
Or  idle  image  of  the  brain — 

I  draw  a  lesson  from  it  still. 

And  from  the  mountain-side  to-day, 

Above  the  busy  world  of  strife, 
I  see  how  April  turns  to  May — 

I  see  all  Nature  wake  to  life. 

Through  blooming  hills  and  blooming  downs, 

The  river  rolls  its  silver  flood, 
Past  the  rich  farms  and  busy  towns, 

And  all  things  utter,    '"'Very  Good  !" 

Good  all  things.     Good  yon  clouds,  snow-white, 
That  topple  round  the  endless  sky, 

Hills,  fields  and  rivers,  day  and  night, 
And  good  to  live  and  love  and  die. 

So  from  the  mountain-side  of  years, 
Up  which  I  came,  and  failed  or  won, 

The  places  watered  by  my  tears, 
Seem  sweet  as  gardens  in  the  sun. 


64          POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS  VEIN. 

From  this  calm  height  my  way  seems  plain, 
And  Work  and  Duty  shall  be  joy, 

Ripened,  toned  down,  and  purged  by  pain, 
No  ill  my  purpose  can  destroy. 

And,  passion  laid,  henceforth  I  know 
Passion  is  strong  but  peace  is  deep — 

Better  the  river's  broad  calm  flow 

Than  the  brook's  tortuous  rush  and  leap. 

To-day  I  seem  to  understand 

That  pain  and  struggle,  grief  and  care, 

Are  chisels  in  an  Unseen  Hand 
That  round  us  into  statues  fair. 

From  folly,  wisdom  seems  to  grow; 

From  weakness,  strength;  and  rest  from  strife; 
Peace  out  of  war,  joy  out  of  woe, 

And  out  of  Death  at  last  comes  Life. 

How  clear  to-day  my  work  appears — 

To  grow  a  perfect  man  for  God; 
So,  come  what  may,  or  smiles  or  tears, 

I  know  it  must  be  "  Very  Good  ! 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN.  65 


MY  SELF. 

My  Self  cried  out  for  Happiness,  and  said : 
"  Find  me  a  mate  whom  I  can  love  and  wed." 

And  striving  thus  to  set  my  Self  at  rest, 
And  searching  long,  I  granted  the  request. 

Again  my  Self  cried  out  to  me  and  said: 

"  Bind,  now,  the  laurel  wreath  about  my  head." 

So  day  and  night  I  strove  to  win  a  name, 
And  give  my  Self  the  royal  gift  of  Fame. 

But  soon  the  rare  and  splendid  gift  grew  old, 
And  then  my  Self  cried  out  and  asked  for  Gold. 

And  striving  still  to  make  my  Self  content, 
I  gave  it  Wealth  when  years  of  toil  were  spent. 

And  thus  I  yielded,  though  I  knew  at  first 

No  mortal  draught  could  quench  immortal  thirst. 

And  after  many  days,  in  sore  distress, 
My  Self  cried  out  again  for  Happiness. 

And  then  I  said,  "  Not  all  the  worlds  that  roll 
Through  endless  space  can  satisfy  a  soul  !" 

"  Then  give  me  Heaven,"  my  Self  cried  in  dismay, 
And  I,  unable,  answered,   "  Seek  and  pray  !" 


66  POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN. 

The  poor,  long-suffering  child  had  passed  to  rest, 
From  the  broad  prairie  homestead  in  the  West; 
The  friendly  farmers,  drawn  from  far  and  near, 
With  downcast  eyes  stood  round  the  little  bier; 
The  mother  hid  her  face,  and  strove  in  vain 
To  hide  the  sobs  and  moans  that  spoke  her  pain; 
While  the  strong  father,  wrestling  with  his  grief, 
Shook  through  his  stalwart  bosom  like  a  leaf; 
The  reverent  Elder,  with  a  solemn  face 
And  tear-moist  eyes,  arose  and  prayed  for  grace, 
Some  grief-assuaging  texts  from  Scripture  read, 
Consoled  the  mourning  friends,  and,  ending,  said: 

The  empty  cradle  stands  in  many  a  room, 
And  bleeding  hearts  must  yearn,  through  years  to  come, 
For  perfect  little  feet  that  never  more 
Shall  tread,  uncertain,  on  an  earthly  floor, 
Measuring  the  dangerous  space,  in  baby  glee, 
Between  the  father's  and  the  mother's  knee. 
No  more  the  mother  shall  awake  and  hear 
The  little  child-voice  cooing  in  her  ear. 
And  oft,  as  through  the  lonely  house  she  goes, 
Her  heart  shall  bleed  to  find  the  empty  clothes, 
And  cry  to  God,  "  How*  can  the  happy  skies 
Have  any  need  of  little  hands  and  eyes?" 
And  Heaven  shall  send  no  answer  to  her  woe, 
Save,  "  Trust  His  love,  and  let  the  future  show  !" 


POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN.  6j 

Once,  on  an  Eastern  mountain,  far  away, 
A  field  of  green,  luxuriant  pasture  lay, 
While  in  the  peaceful  vale  that  spread  below, 
A  shepherd  fed  his  flocks,  as  white  as  snow. 
Day  after  day  he  turned  his  longing  eyes 
Toward  the  pasture  waving  in  the  skies, 
And  often  strove  in  vain  to  drive  his  flocks 
Up  the  steep  sides  and  o'er  the  rugged  rocks, 
'Till,  on  a  summer  morn,  he  took  the  lambs 
And  bore  them  upward  from  the  bleating  dams; 
Then,  looking  down,  he  saw  the  mountain-side 
White  with  the  climbing  flocks  that,  far  and  wide, 
Scaled  the  rough  heights  they  would  not  try  before; 
And  soon,  with  joyful  heart,  he  told  them  o'er, 
And  saw  them  all,  beneath  his  careful  eye, 
Safe  with  the  lambs,  and  feeding  in  the  sky  ! 

Thus  the  Good  Shepherd,  when  His  all-wise  love 
Would  lead  immortal  flocks  to  fields  above, 
Takes  the  white  babes,  amid  beseeching  cries, 
And  draws  the  yearning  parents  to  the  skies  ! 


OLD  ANN. 

Old  Ann  is  gone  !     The  church  she  clung  to  gave 
The  mite  that  laid  her  in  a  pauper's  grave. 
Once  she  was  fair — the  loveliest  village  maid — 
And  was,  like  all  things  fair  and  frail,  betrayed. 
Thus,  at  the  dawn  of  womanhood,  were  formed, 
The  clouds  that  never  broke,  and  never  stormed; 


68  POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS    VEIN. 

A  lasting  gloom,  that,  with  repressive  strain, 
Clung  like  a  grave-cloth  to  her  heart  and  brain  ! 

Thenceforth  from  pain  she  knows  no  full  release, 
No  light  and  cheerful  mind,  no  certain  peace; 
But  evermore  a  shadow  clouds  her  breast, 
Or  when  she  wakes  or  when  she  sinks  to  rest. 
The  friends  who  ushered  her  through  gilded  doors, 
With  greetings  warm,  to  richly-covered  floors, 
And  cheered  her  heart  around  the  well-spread  board, 
With  due  respect,  and  many  a  kindly  word, 
Now,  with  politeness,  shun  her  in  the  street, 
Or  pass  her  by,  unnoticed,  when  they  meet, 
And  close  their  doors  against  her;  at  a  breath 
She  shrinks  together,  struck  by  social  death  ! 
Her  Christian  sisters  at  the  church  refuse 
To  sit  with  her,  and  steal  to  other  pews; 
Even  the  kind  pastor  grows  reserved  and  cool, 
The  teachers  shun  her  in  the  Sabbath-school, 
And  the  glad  scholars,  whom  she  loved  to  teach, 
Slip  from  her  class  and  pass  beyond  her  reach. 
Nay,  even  the  children  in  the  public  way 
Show  disrespect,  and  mock  her  at  their  play. 
But  if,  Elisha-like,  in  her  distress, 
She  turns  enraged,  to  curse  whom  she  should  bless, 
No  quick-avenging  bears  come  from  the  wood, 
To  quench  their  cruel  sport  in  youthful  blood  ! 
The  ruthless  shopmen,  when  she  goes  to  buy, 
Wink  back  and  forth,  and  make  unkind  reply; 
And,  sorest  wound  of  all,  the  very  poor, 


POEMS  Iff  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN.          69 

Who  thought  her  once  an  angel  at  the  door, 
Now  make  requests  as  rudely  as  demands, 
And  take  her  gifts  with  condescending  hands  ! 
Her  name  and  influence  sink  to  sure  decay, 
Nor  friends  alone,  but  kindred  fall  away; 
In  vain  she  toils,  in  vain  she  turns  to  fight, 
Her  ruin  closes  round  her  like  the  night  ! 

Thus,  old  in  shame  and  grief,  but  not  in  years, 
She  quit  the  flesh  and  passed  to  other  spheres; 
Shaking  Earth's  dust  from  foot  and  soul,  she  turned 
Her  back  forever  on  the  world  she  spumed. 
A  rudely-varnished  box  to  burial  bore 
The  cast-off  garment  once  her  spirit  wore. 
No  hymns  were  sung,  no  churchly  rites  were  read, 
No  throng  stood  round  with  bowed,  uncovered  head; 
But  one  kind  soul  in  sheerest  pity  prayed, 
And  then  an  humble,  ill-clad  woman,  said: 

Farewell,  Old  Ann  !     Among  the  busy  throng 
One  heart  grows  tender  o'er  thy  dismal  wrong. 
Rest  to  thy  form — a  painless,  endless  rest  ! 
And  peace  eternal  be  thy  spirit's  guest ! 
If  clouds  still  shroud  thee  in  thy  new  abode, 
There  is  no  Father,  and  no  pitying  God  ! 
Perhaps  thy  burning  prayers,  unheeded  here, 
Are  richly  answered  in  some  brighter  sphere. 
Perhaps  thy  faith  not  all  a  myth  shall  prove, 
And  we  shall  meet  some  happy  morn  above, 
The  cloud  gone  from  thy  mind,  and  in  thine  eyes 
Unspeakable  delight  and  glad  surprise; 


70          POEMS  IN  THE  RELIGIOUS   VEIN. 

Made  young  again,  and  radiant  with  a  light 

Seen  dimly  here  sometimes  by  mortal  sight; 

And  thou  shall  tell  me  how  thy  pitying  Lord 

Never  rebuked  thee  by  a  look  or  word, 

Nor  made  reproving  mention  of  thy  sin, 

But  smiled,  and  said  in  tender  tones,    "  Come  in  ! 

Well  done,  long-suffering  and  beloved  child, 

Strong  in  thy  love,  yet  easily  beguiled; 

I  loved  thee  through  it  all,  and  dear  shall  be 

The  very  shame  that  drove  thee  unto  me  ! 

A  little  while  from  thee  I  hid  my  face, 

A  little  moment  left  thee  in  disgrace; 

But  now  I  take  thee  home,  and  unto  me, 

With  everlasting  kindness,  gather  thee. 

Here  shall  my  presence  make  eternal  day, 

Here  all  thy  tears  by  love  are  wiped  away; 

The  many  mansions  of  the  blest  are  here, 

Thy  own  eternal  home  is  wailing  near, 

And  thou  shall  have  thy  heart's  desire,  wilh  peace, 

And  joy,  and  honor  lhal  shall  never  cease  !" 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 


POEMS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD. 


WAR. 

Down  in  the  street  there's  a  shuffling  of  feet, 
And  the  big  guns  boom  on  the  top  of  the  hill; 

There's  a  clatter  of  swords,  and  a  murmur  of  words, 
And  veins  are  swelling  with  blood  to  spill. 

And  the  fife  and   the  drum   through   the  long  streets 
come, 

And  the  flags  are  let  loose  from  window  and  wall, 
There  are  loud   "  Hurrahs  !"  and  the  brass  band  plays, 

And  what  does  it  mean—  this  music  and  all  ? 

Why,  a  sound  went  forth  from  the  far-off  South, 
And  the  war-dog  barked  ere  the  morning  light, 

And  a  thrill  went  far  through  the  heart  of  the  North, 
And  the  men  rose  up  like  a  storm  in  the  night. 

The  faces  of  women  are  washed  with  tears, 
For  the  men  they  love  are  in  battle  array; 

Oh,  what  can  the  beautiful  women  do  ? 
What  can  a  woman,  but  weep  and  pray  ? 

Why,  buckle  the  sword  to  the  man  she  loves, 

And  vow  to  be  true  to  him  when  afar, 
And  kiss  him  and  bless  him  before  he  goes, 

And  send  him  away  to  the  war. 

And  the  very  angels  shall  look  with  surprise, 
As  they  lean  from  the  ramparts  above; 


72  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR  PERIOD. 

For  there  lives  not  a  man  in  the  scope  of  the  skies 
That  is  not  a  hero  for  love  ! 

Oh,  men  of  the  North  and  the  South  stand  firm, 
'Till  Treason  and  Traitors  are  undertrod; 

And  show  to  the  world  man  is  king  of  himself, 
And  how  dear  is  the  People  to  God. 


EQUALITY. 

Toil  on,  ye  millions,  and  rejoice, 
The  morning  star  is  in  the  sky; 

Day  dawns,  and  like  the  skylark's  voice, 
Fall  the  glad  tidings  from  on  high. 

Deem  not  your  station  mean,  who  wield 
The  tools  of  art,  or  turn  the  sod — 

All  men  are  builders,  and  they  build 
The  Temple  of  the  Race  to  God. 

Some  hew  the  stone,  some  build  the  wall, 
Some  in  the  mine  must  toil  below; 

The  finer  work  is  not  for  all, 
As  Raphael  and  Angelo. 

But  having  done  his  part,  his  strength 
For  each  shall  build  a  name  and  home, 

And  all  shall  come  and  sit  at  length, 
Equals  beneath  the  splendid  dome. 

And  ye  who  read  the  times  aright, 
Can  see  how  well  the  work  goes  on, 

The  red  Dawn  driving  back  the  Night, 
The  whole  world  turning  to  the  sun. 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

No  longer  shall  the  favored  Few 
The  Many  bind  in  iron  control — 

To-day  the  Many  strike  anew, 

And  break  the  chains  from  wrist  and  soul. 

Again  the  many  strike  to  show 

The  innate  majesty  of  man; 
The  People  are  the  heroes  now, 

And  have  been  since  the  world  began. 

O,  white-hot  war  !     O,  furnace  blast  1 
That  burns  the  husk  and  makes  men  shine, 

And  shows  what  seemed  but  dust  outcast, 
Are  purest  diamonds  of  the  mine. 

What  need  of  birth  or  royal  line  ? 

These  trials  shall  make  us  strong  and  good, 
Shall  tinge  the  Human  with  Divine, 

And  fill  all  veins  with  noble  blood. 

A  hut's  a  palace,  and  our  own 
Is  that  glad  age  which  poets  sing; 

A  hat's  a  crown,  a  chair's  a  throne, 
And  every  man's  a  reigning  king. 

There's  royalty  in  every  soul, 

All  men  are  regally  endowed; 
There's  might  that,  when  it  breaks  control, 

Strikes  like  the  lightning  from  the  cloud — 

A  power  that  makes  men  great  and  free, 

And  so  divine  in  being's  scale, 
That  when  they  rise  in  majesty, 

Hell  trembles  and  the  Heavens  pale. 


73 


74  POEMS   OP    THE    WAR  PERIOD. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STORMS. 

The  storm-gods  are  going  to  battle, 
We  can  hear  the  low  roll  of  the  drum, 

Far  up,  from  the  North  and  the  South, 
The  clouds  to  the  conflict  are  come. 

Great  cannon  from  battlements  boom — 
From  the  battlements  up  in  the  sky; 

And  they  shake  the  great  hills  of  the  earth, 
And  flame  through  regions  on  high. 

An  army  of  clouds  in  the  North, 

In  the  South  the  dark  lines  of  the  foe, 

And  they  charge  up  the  sky  with  a  roar, 
Like  the  roar  of  the  sea  in  its  woe. 

And  the  earth  and  the  heavens  are  filled 

With  the  sound  of  the  charge  and  the  drum, 

And  the  forests  are  bending  before 

The  blast  which  they  make  as  they  come. 

Lo  !  they  meet  with  a  terrible  shock  ! 

And  a  sharp  and  a  startling  crash 
Splits  the  sky,  like  the  split  of  a  rock, 

And  men  reel,  stricken  blind  by  a  flash. 

They  are  met  in  a  deadly  embrace, 

They  pour  out  their  blood  like  the  floods, 

And  the  Earth  seems  to  leap  from  its  place, 
As  it  quakes  through  its  mountains  and  woods. 


POEMS   OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  75 

A  pause  !  and  the  battle  is  done, 

And  the  sign  that  the  war  shall  cease, 

From  the  walls  of  the  East  is  hung  out, 
The  bow  and  the  banner  of  peace. 

The  battle  is  over  and  gone, 

We  can  hear  the  far  tramp  of  the  crowds, 
And  the  fields  and  the  hills  and  the  hearts  of  men 

Are  washed  by  the  blood  of  the  clouds. 

Thus  our  war  for  mankind  thunders  on, 
And  the  nations  turn  pale  at  the  sight; 

But  they  see  the  bright  banner  of  Freedom  and  Peace 
Hung  out  on  the  walls  of  the  night. 

And  the  Nation  grows  rich  from  its  gifts, 

And  the  People  grow  strong  from  their  pain, 

And  the  State  and  the  Church  and  the  hearts  of  man, 
Are  washed  by  the  blood  of  the  slain. 


ON  THE  BAR, 

All  day  the  helpless  steamboat  writhed  and  shivered, 
Clutched  in  the  strong  grip  of  the  treacherous  bar, 

All  day  the  people  sighed  to  be  delivered, 

While  mate  and  deck-hands  worked  with  rope  and 
spar. 

Silent  the  poet  sat  among  the  people, 

With  pleasant  day-dreams  smiling  in  his  eye, 

And  saw  the  town,  with  tow'ring  dome  and  steeple, 
And  sleepless  ferry-boats  that  fluttered  by. 


76  POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

I 
Fair  rose  the  town,  with  the  great  stream  beneath  her, 

And  columns  of  smoke  uncoiling  on  the  air, 
Her  church-spires  swimming  in  the  crystal  ether, 

And  homes  and  gardens  smiling  everywhere. 

All  day  upon  the  sand-bar,  down  the  river, 
The  naked  urchins  ran — a  goodly  sight — 

And  plunging  with  exultant  leap  and  shiver, 

Swam  round  and  round  and  shouted  with  delight ! 

All  day  along  the  shallow  shore,  the  cattle 
Stood  in  knee  deep,  or  idly  came  and  went, 

Switching  the  fly-brush  in  the  same  old  battle, 
And  grinding  still  the  cud,  with  looks  content. 

Behind  the  pleasant  town  the  hills  immortal 

Rose  green  with  woods  and  blue  with  summer  skies; 

And  far  beyond,  as  through  an  open  portal, 

He  saw  the  clouds,  like  Heaven's  own  mountains, 
rise. 

Saw  everywhere,  the  wide  earth's  wondrous  beauty, 
The  busy  towns,  *the  green  and  fruitful  land, 

Saw  the  glad  world  of  love  and  work  and  duty, 
And  prayed  the  Nation  might  forever  stand. 

Saw  the  Great  People  blessed  beyond  all  measure, 
With  power  and  room  and  liberty  to  live: 

And  knew  a  generation's  blood  and  treasure, 
For  such  a  land  were  not  too  much  to  give. 

So  while  the  rest  sang  songs,  or  told  some  story, 
Complained,  grew  restless,  moved  from  place  to  place, 

He  talked  with  God,  and  in  a  far-off  glory, 
Discerned  a  smile  upon  His  loving  face. 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  77 

THE   SOLDIER'S  LAST  LOOK. 

Looking  downward  from  the  spire,   over    every 

busy  street, 
I  can  hear  the  city  throbbing,  like  a  heart,  beneath  my 

feet; 

Ever  upward,  ever  downward,  how  the  busy  mortals  go  ! 
How  they  dart,  like  human  shuttles,  back  and  forth, 

and  to  and  fro  ! 

Ever  working,  working,  working,  to  the  same  myste 
rious  goal, 
Ever  seeking,   ever  groping,  in  the  blindness  of  the 

soul  ! 
Feeling  upward  through  the  darkness,  yearning  upward 

for  the  light, 
Like  the  trav'lers  in  the  mountains,  on  a  weird  and 

moonless  night. 

Here,  above  the  ancient  city,  here  above  the  end 
less  strife, 

Let  me  sit  awhile,  and  muse  on  all  the  mystery  of  life. 

O,  to  think  of  all  our  trouble,  and  to  think  of  all  our 
pain  ! 

O,  to  be  forever  failing,  a-nd  to  try  and  try  again  ! 

O,  to  be  forever  climbing,  and  forever  falling  back  ! 

And  to  be  forever  struggling  with  the  foes  that  haunt 
our  track  ! 

O,  the  dream  of  human  glory,  as  I  dreamed  it  in  my 
youth, 

When  the  sky  was  full  of  angels  and  the  world  was  full 
of  truth, 


78  POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

And  my  soul  reached  out  to  grasp  it,  as  the  soul  will 
reach  too  soon, 

Like  a  simple-hearted  infant,  reaching  up  to  grasp  the 
moon  ! 

I  have  looked  up  in  the  star-lit  nights,  and  in  the  sum 
mer  days, 

And  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  brighter  than 
the  sun's  warm  rays, 

And  the  brain  has  paused  and  staggered,  and  the  soul 
reeled  back  to  think 

Of  the  joy  that  may  await  us  when  we  break  this  mor 
tal  link. 

I  have  closed  my  eyes  to  listen,  and  have  heard  strange 
noises  roll, 

Far  away,  like  distant  thunder,  down  the  great  deeps 
of  the  soul; 

I  have  heard  God's  great  hand  working,  seeming  far, 
yet  ever  near, 

Slowly  changing  men  to  angels,  working  surely,  year 
by  year. 

And  whatever  may  befall  us,  whatsoe'er  we  seem  to  be, 

We  are  safe,  and  when  He  binds  us,  it  is  done  to  make 
us  free. 

Looking  downward,  I  remember  all  the  pleasures 

dead  and  gone, 
And  the  rosy  cheeks  and  happy  hearts  ere  manhood's 

noon  came  on  — 

How  we  heard  the  voices  calling  from  the  far  Eternity, 
Heard  the  far-off  roar  of  coming  years,  and  panted  to 

be  free. 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  79 

I  was  out  at  early  morning — through  the  city — on  the 

hill, 
When  the  smoke  went  up  to  heaven,  and  the  cocks 

crew  loud  and  shrill — 
When  the  rising  sun,  like  God  Himself,  emerged  into 

the  sky, 
And  everything  that  lived  on   earth   sent  up  a  joyful 

cry,— 
When  a  thousand  westward  windows  answered  with  a 

furnace  glow, 
And  the  little  angel's  trumpet   on   the   church-spire 

seemed  to  blow  ! 
I  was  out  in  every  Summer  night,  when  storms  were 

in  the  West, 
And   the  clouds  thrust  out  their  fiery  tongues,  and 

licked  the  mountain's  crest; 
I  was  out  in  every  Winter  night,  when  stars  were  bright 

and  high, 
And  the  wondrous  lights  were  in  the  North  and  God 

behind  the  sky  ! 
There  must  be  eternal  meaning  in  the  beauty  which 

we  see, 
And  our  subtle  feelings  prophesy  the  life  that  is  to  be. 

It  is  Autumn,  and  the  far-off  hills,  against  the  sky 

unrolled, 
Are  blue  as  ocean,  and  the  woods  are  dipped  in  red 

and  gold; 

All  around,  the  fields  are  spotted  with  the  shocks  of 
ripened  grain, 


8o  POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

Like  the  tents  of  Northern  armies  camping  on  a  South 
ern  plain. 

And  I  see  the  rim  of  Winter  looming  up  the  dreary 
North, 

And  I  hear  the  tramp  of  tempests  gathering  far  and 
marching  forth  ! 

Time  of  strife  and  blood   and   tempests  !    I  can 

hear  the  far  alarms, 
And  the  heavy  tramp  of  armies,  booming  guns  and 

clanging  arms, 
For  the  South  is  drunk  with  Slavery,  and  the  North  is 

strong  and  true, 
And  the  Nation's  God  has  called  us — there  is  mighty 

work  to  do  ! 

Man  was  made  for  sacrifices — it  is  written  on  his  life — 
And  the  wife  lives  for  the  husband,  and  the  husband 

for  the  wife; 
And  they  both  live  for  the  children,  and  each  teeming 

generation 
Lives  for  that  which  is  to  follow,  and  we  all  live  for  the 

Nation. 
Man  was  made  for  sacrifices — I  must  place  me  in  the 

van, 
And,  no  matter  when  or  where  or  how,  so  I  can  die  for 

man. 

I  will  look  my  last  upon  you — native  city — hills 

afar — 

Ere  I  bind  the  sword-belt  round  me,  ere  I  plunge  into 
the  war; 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  8 1 

I  will  look  my  last  upon  you,  though  it  break  my  heart 

with  pain, 
And  a  voice  within  me  whispers,  I  shall  never  look 

again. 
There  are  many  lives  to  offer  ere  the  mighty  work  is 

done, 
And  the  lot  has  fallen  upon  me,  and  I  know  that  mine 

is  one  ! 
Let  it  be  so  !  who  would  suffer  through  long  years  to 

die  at  last, 
And  be  cast  out  and  forgotten  in  the  ashes  of  the 

Past  ? 

Come  and  join  us,  O  ye  legions  !  from  the  East 
and  West  and  North, 

God  of  Freedom  !  open  wide  thy  gates  and  pour  thy 
people  forth  ! 

Gather  from  the  fields  and  cities,  like  the  tempest- 
swollen  rills ! 

Come  up  from  a  thousand  valleys,  come  down  from  a 
thousand  hills  ! 

Strike,  if  need  be,  till  the  rivers  overflow  with  human 
blood  ! 

Strike,  if  need  be,  till  the  ocean  blushes  with  the  pur 
ple  flood  ! 

Strike,  to  banish  Human  Slavery  from  the  lists  of  hu 
man  crime ! 

Strike  for  Man  and  Human  Freedom  throughout  all 
the  future  time ! 


82  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR  PERIOD. 

UNKNOWN. 

She  walks  amid  the  graves  and  weeps, 
In  vain  she  searches  for  her  son; 

Somewhere  among  the  dead  he  sleeps, 
And  o'er  him  is  the  word,  "Unknown  !" 

O,  mother  !  not  until  the  day, 

When  God  shall  come  to  wake  the  dead, 
Shall  anything  his  grave  betray, 

Or  tell  where  rests  his  sacred  head. 

He  sleeps  like  him  who,  safe  from  harm, 
God  buried  there  in  Nebo's  land; 

Nor  all  the  might  of  Satan's  arm, 

Could  take  his  dust  from  Michael's  hand. 

O,  mother  !  with  the  broken  heart, 

They  tell  thee  false  who  write  "Unknown  !" 

Christ  from  his  dead  can  never  part, 
He  knows  and  keeps  His  own. 


THE  DOOMED  CITY. 

She  was  a  city  lifted  up  to  Heaven; 
Her  people  were  exalted,  and  her  pride 
Smelt  in  the  nostrils  of  a  patient  God. 
She  scorned  Democracy,  and  ate  her  bread, 
Not  in  the  sweat  of  her  imperious  brow, 
But  in  the  unpaid  labor  of  her  slaves. 
And  while  she  forged  the  chains  for  other  wrists, 
She  scorned  obedience,  and  conspired  against 


POEMS   OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  83 

The  gentlest  government  that  ever  laid 

Its  silken  laws  on  men.     And,  haughtier  grown, 

She  spit  defiance  in  the  Nation's  face, 

And  plotted  treason  in  her  council  chambers, 

And,  dragging  with  her  the  third  part  of  Heaven, 

She  set  rebellious  cannon  on  her  isles, 

And  shot  the  flag  from  Sumpter. 

From  that  hour 

The  people  rose  up  like  a  million  giants, 
And  men  who  had  been  dumb,  found  tongues  to  speak! 
And  men  who  had  been  blind,  found  eyes  to  see  ! 
And  men  who  had  been  weak,  found  arms  to  smite  ! 
The  cities  shouted  to  the  plains  to  strike  ! 
And  the  plains  shouted  to  the  mountains,  "  Strike  !" 
And  all  the  mountains  answered  back  again, 
And  shouted  to  the  plains  and  cities,  "  Strike  !" 
Then  poured  the  legions,  like  the  streams  in  spring, 
And  mountains,  plains  and  cities  rang  with  war  ! 

And  now  the  city's  time  came.     Long  her  pride 
Vexed  the  Almighty,  and  He  punished  long. 
Through  many  long  and  terrible  months  it  rained 
Fire  and  brimstone  and  an  iron  hail 
On  the  doomed  city,  and  by  day  and  night 
Wild  shrieks  and  screams  and  noises  filled  the  air, 
And  monstrous  missiles,  hurtling  through  the  sky, 
Burst  overhead  or  crashed  among  the  walls  ! 
Yet,  like  the  Wandering  Jew,  who  could  not  die, 
The  city  could  not  burn.     Her  people  ran 


84         POEMS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD. 

Hither  and  thither  to  escape  the  ruin 
Of  crushing  buildings  and  of  falling  walls. 
Her  commerce  and  her  glory  were  departed, 
And  grass  that  was  to  grow  in  Northern  cities, 
Grew  in  her  busiest  streets,  and  when  she  fell, 
Among  the  shouting  hosts  that  thronged  her  streets, 
Were  blue-clad  blacks,  whom  once  she  scourged  as 
slaves. 

So  she  whose  pride  exalted  her  to  Heaven, 
Has  been  cast  down  and  humbled;  another  people 
Shall  throng  her  streets  and  occupy  her  places. 
Her  blocks,  where  human  flesh  and  blood  were  sold, 
Are  burned  to  cook  the  Union  soldiers'  meat; 
Her  blood-hounds  have  been  hunted  down  and  shot, 
Her  slave-pens  have  been  leveled  in  the  dust, 
And  the  old  things  shall  never  be  again. 


THE  MASKED  BATTERIES. 

The  woods  are  gray  and  all  alive, 
And  rank  on  rank  the  rebels  swarm, 

Thick  as  the  bees  swarm  from  the  hive, 
Thick  as  the  gray  clouds  in  a  storm. 

While  down  the  field,  in  grim  array, 

Silent  and  masked  our  batteries  lay. 

Column  on  column,  and  gun  on  gun, 
Horses  and  men  and  grape  and  shell, 

Out  in  the  open  field  and  on 

They  pour  like  demons  fresh  from  hell 


POEMS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD.      85 

And  from  their  batteries,  thick  and  hot, 
Fall  the  iron  showers  of  shell  and  shot. 


All  down  the  lines,  and  still  as  death, 
Flat  on  the  ground  our  legions  lay; 

Biding,  while  each  man  held  his  breath, 
The  turning  moment  of  the  day. 

And  Rosecrans  stood,  with  hat  in  hand, 

And  massed  the  guns  and  waved  command. 

But  spake  not.     Then  the  moment  came, 
And  from  our  flashing  guns  outpoured 

The  red-hot  floods  of  iron  and  flame, 
Till  earth  shook  and  the  heavens  roared, 

With  peal  on  peal,  and  flash  on  flash, 

And  shriek  on  shriek,  and  crash  on  crash  ! 

Then  paused,  as  when  a  tempest  lulls, 
The  dun  smoke  rose  and  rolled  away; 

Thick  strewn,  as  when  a  city  falls, 
Guns,  horses,  men  in  ruins  lay  ! 

And,  rising  like  a  hurricane, 

Our  legions  swept  the  battle-plain  ! 

The  field  is  won  !     Our  banner  floats 
O'er  heroes  of  a  hundred  scars; 

And  from  a  myriad  lion  throats, 

The  shouts  of  victory  shake  the  stars  ! 

And  dead  and  wounded,  far  and  wide, 

Lay  still,  or  moaning,  side  by  side. 


86  POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

So  swift  and  sure  the  fierce  cyclone 
Spreads  death  and  ruin  o'er  the  land, 

But  from  such  fields  as  Rosecrans  won, 
Fixed  as  eternal  Alps  shall  stand, 

A  home  for  men  of  other  climes, 

Freedom  and  Peace  to  after  times  1 


SHERMAN'S  HOST. 

"Atlanta's  ours,  and  fairly  won," 
Sherman  said,  when  the  deed  was  done; 
And  History's  page  and  Poet's  lays, 
Owned  one  more  terse,  immortal  phrase, 
While  Sherman's  host  and  Sherman's  name, 
Sprang  into  everlasting  fame  ! 

Brave  host  of  home-made  Western  men, 
From  mill  and  plow,  from  desk  and  pen; 
In  every  battle  fought  to  test 
The  sturdy  manhood  of  the  West, 
And  the  rash  chivalry  of  the  South, 
At  bayonet-point  and  cannon-mouth, 
They,  on  the  foremost  edge  of  battle, 
In  the  fierce  flame  and  roar  and  rattle, 
Stand  out  amid  the  lurid  glory — 
Stand  out  as  stands  a  promontory — 
And  break  the  waves  of  war  asunder, 
Which  at  the  nation  leap  and  thunder. 

At  stubborn  Vicksburg,  swooping  down, 
On  cannon-fronted  fort  and  town, 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD.  87 

They  leap  the  stream,  and  back  again 
Come  sweeping  like  a  hurricane, 
Cut  the  doomed  city  from  the  plain, 
And  at  the  grim,  death-hurling  walls, 
Storm  on  until  the  stronghold  falls. 
Then  on  the  mountains,  steep  and  high, 
They  fight  the  Battle  in  the  Sky, 
Above  the  clouds,  where  down  they  hurled 
The  foe  from  Lookout,  and  unfurled 
The  grand  old  banner  o'er  the  world  ! 
Then  storming  hills  and  rocky  ledges, 
And  deadly  mountain-gaps  and  ridgesj 
They  fought  the  Three-Months-Battle,  down 
Sheer  to  the  gates  of  that  doomed  town, 
Which,  opening,  passed  the  blue-clad  host, 
Shouting  and  singing  to  the  coast ! 

Glad,  gala  march  !  the  march  they  made  I 
After  grim  war,  a  light  parade  I 
From  fallen  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
Singing  the  anthems  of  the  free  ! 
Shilling  their  shining  arms  they  sang 
'Till  Georgia's  woods  with  freedom  rang ! 
Lightly  they  drew  the  righteous  sword 
And  touched  the  fetters,  world  abhorred, 
When  the  red  shackles  fell  apart, 
From  the  sore  limbs,  and  sorer  heart. 
Thus  when  Saladin  tossed  in  air 
The  silken  scarf,  and  met  it  there 
With  his  keen  sword,  the  blade  passed  through, 


88  POEMS   OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

And  the  rare  fabric  fell  in  two  ! 
Lightly  they  heard  the  slave-chains  break, 
While  myriads  freed  fell  in  their  wake, 
Panting  and  following  night  and  day, 
To  reach  the  Freeland  far  away  ! 

Rome  called  Marcellus  Sword  of  Rome, 
So,  gallant  host !  in  thy  far  home, 
Men  call  thee  Sword,  as,  keen  and  bright, 
They  see  thee  smiting,  and  thy  light 
Flashing  and  glimmering  in  the  sun, 
Along  the  fields  thy  edge  has  won  ! 

Sword  of  the  Union  !  whose  keen  edge 
Drives  through  Rebellion  like  a  wedge, 
And  cuts  insurgent  States  asunder, 
While  the  wide  world  looks  on  in  wonder; 
Pierce  thou  the  heart  of  Treason  thiough  ! 
Cut  thou  the  Rebel  Snake  in  two  ! 
Divide  its  bones  and  nerves  and  veins, 
And  give  its  blood  to  streams  and  plains  ! 

Henceforth,  their  glory,  shining  far, 
Shall  light  the  page  of  righteous  war  1 
As  in  that  story  which  is  told, 
In  fair  Italia's  tongue  of  gold, 
How  a  bright  Angel,  all  unknown, 
Usurped  a  self-proud  monarch's  throne, 
And,  journeying  from  the  royal  home, 
Went  up  from  Sicily  to  Rome; 
And  where  the  splendid  train  passed  by, 
A  glory  fell  on  hills  and  sky  1 


POEMS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD.      89 

Henceforth,  when  history  shall  relate 
The  deeds  that  made  her  heroes  great, 
How  Alexander  conquered  all, 
And  wept  for  other  worlds  to  fall — 
How  Carthaginian  Hannibal 
First  scaled  the  everlasting  wall, 
And  plunging  down  the  Roman  States, 
Thundered  at  Rome's  imperial  gates — 
How  he  whom  gods  could  scarce  retard, 
Napoleon,  crossed  the  St.  Bernard, 
Or  smote  an  hundred  States  and  towns, 
And  plucked  up  thrones  and  plucked  off  crowns; 
Henceforth,  when  her  admiring  pen 
Recounts  the  deeds  of  hero-men, 
She  shall  relate  how  Sherman's  host 
Cut  the  long  passage  to  the  coast, 
Like  some  vast  river,  and  went  down 
Through  States  and  cities  to  renown. 


WELCOME  HOME. 

O,  the  men  who  fought  and  bled  I 
O,  the  glad  and  gallant  tread! 
O,  the  bright  skies  overhead  ! 

Welcome  home  1 
O,  the  brave,  returning  boys  I 
O,  the  overflowing  joys  ! 
And  the  guns  and  drums  and  noise 

Welcome  home  ! 


90  POEMS   OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

Let  the  deep-voiced  cannon  roar, 
Open  every  gate  and  door, 
Pour  out,  Happy  People,  pour  ! 

Welcome  home  ! 
Bloom,  O  banners  !  over  all, 
Over  every  roof  and  wall, 
Float  and  flow,  and  rise  and  fall, 

Welcome  home  ! 

Splendid  columns,  moving  down, 
Iron  vet'rans,  soiled  and  brown, 
Grim  heads,  fit  to  wear  a  crown, 

Welcome  home  ! 

Grim  heads,  which  a  wall  have  been, 
Guarding  sacred  things  within, 
Facing  foeward  till  they  win, 

Welcome  home ! 

There  the  women  stand  for  hours, 
With  their  white  hands  full  of  flowers, 
Raining  down  the  perfumed  showers 

On  the  dear  men  marching  home  ! 
Do  you  see  him  in  the  line  ? 
Something  makes  him  look  divine, 
And  a  glory  makes  him  shine, 

Coming  home ! 

Look  out  where  the  flag  unfurls, 
Look  out  through  your  tears  and  curls, 
Give  them  welcome,  happy  girls, 
Welcome  home  ! 


POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

Welcome  home  from  war's  alarms, 
Welcome  to  a  thousand  charms, 
Waiting  lips  and  loving  arms, 
Welcome  home ! 

Strong  man,  with  the  serious  face, 
If  you  saw  him  in  his  place, 
Marching  swift  to  your  embrace, 

Coming  home, 

You  would  weep  with  glad  surprise  ! 
Ah  !  the  dear  dead  boy  that  lies 
Under  Southern  ground  and  skies, 

Far  from  home  ! 

Woman,  with  the  tender  eye, 
Weeping  while  the  boys  go  by, 
Well  we  know  what  makes  you  cry, 

Weary  home  ! 

God  be  with  you  in  your  pain, 
You  will  look  and  look  in  vdin, 
He  will  never  come  again, 

To  his  home  ! 

And  amid  our  joy  we  weep 
For  the  noble  dead  who  sleep 
In  the  vale  and  on  the  steep, 

Far  from  home; — 
For  the  Chief  we  loved  so  well, 
For  the  Christ-like  man  who  fell, 
By  the  chosen  hand  of  hell, 

And  went  home  ! 


g  2  POEMS  OF  THE    WAR  PERIOD. 

Take  a  Nation's  thanks,  O  men  ! 
For  the  Slavery  Dragon  slain, 
And  the  States  restored  again, 

Welcome  home ! 

Limb  and  Tongue  and  Press  are  free, 
And  the  People  shout  to  see 
All  the  glory  yet  to  be, 

Welcome  home  ! 

For  the  bloody  work  is  done, 
And  the  people  shall  be  one, 
Under  all  the  Western  sun, 

Welcome  home  ! 

Man  no  caste  nor  king  shall  know, 
White  and  black  shall  rise  and  grow, 
And  to  wondrous  heights  shall  go, 

Welcome  home ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  93 


MISCELLANEO  US. 


MOTHER. 

Away,  where  the  Blue  Ridge  looks  down  through  the 

gaP, 
Over  mountains  that  slumber  like  planets  at  rest, 

Where  the  Valley  rolls  outward,  like  Heaven's  own  map, 
And  the  Homes  lie  like  infants  asleep  on  its  breast; — 

I  look  from  the  North  Mountain  knob,  and  behold, 
O  mother  !  the  home  where  thy  youth  dreamed  its 
dream, 

The  orchard  bowed  down  with  its  apples  of  gold, 
The  hill  with  the  cave  and  the  clear  mountain  stream. 

In  the  days  when  the  roses  were  red  in  her  cheeks, 
And  her  blood,  rich  with  love,  ran   as  fresh  as  the 

rills, 

When  her  feet  were  as  light  as  the  fawn's  on  the  peaks, 
She  tripped  through  these  valleys  and  danced  on 
these  hills. 

'Twas  the  home  of  her  girlhood,  but  long,  long  ago, 
She  went  with  her  love  to  the  wilds  of  the  West, 

And  there  in  the  forests  Death's  hand  laid  him  low, 
And  left  her  with  only  her  babes  at  her  breast. 

All  around  her  the  world  like  a  wilderness  spread, 
As  she  staggered  along  with  the  load  that  she  bore, 


94 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Ah  !  how  great  was  her  burden  !  and  heavy  as  lead, 
But  as  precious  as  gold,  and  she  loved  to  endure. 

And  she  sighed  as  she  told  us  the  world  was  once  bright, 

And  the  flowers  were  lovely  when  she  was  a  child, 
But  her  words  fell  like  snow,  for  our  young  hearts  were 

light, 

And  we  danced  as  before,  and  we  laughed  till  she 
smiled. 

But  we  learned  it  at  last,  and  we  learned  it  with  tears, 
That  she  longed  to  be  there  with  the  lord  of  her 

heart, 
And  for  us  she  remained  through  the  heart-broken 

years, 
For  we  stood  in  the  door  and  she  could  not  depart. 


HOMELESS. 

Sitting  and  weeping  all  the  day, 
Seeing  the  ships  go  down  the  bay, 
Watching  the  waves  that  climb  the  shore, 
Climb  and  fall  back,  and  nothing  more. 
Finding  so  soon  that  life  is  sad; 
Finding  so  soon  that  men  are  bad; 
Fearing  to  live,  from  self-distrust; 
Fearing  to  die— as  die  he  must; 
Knowing  that  he  is  weak  and  blind; 
Seeking  for  what  he  cannot  find; 
Waiting  for  that  which  will  not  come — 
A  heart  to  love  him,  and  a  home. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  95 

Sitting  and  weeping  all  the  day, 
Seeing  the  ships  go  down  the  bay, 
Watching  the  waves  that  climb  the  shore, 
Climb  and  fall  back,  and  nothing  more. 
Symbol  of  what  his  life  has  been, 
Climbing  and  falling  back  to  sin. 
Father  of  men  !  shall  his  efforts  be 
Forever  like  the  waves  of  the  sea  ? 


HEAVEN  AND  HELL. 

Night  locks  the  gates  of  Day — the  sun  has  passed — 

Gone  down  behind  the  mountains  blue  and  high; 
Twilight  and  Rest  steal  o'er  the  hills  at  last, 

And  Angels  hang  the  lamps  out  on  the  sky. 
Across  the  Eastern  mountains  far  I  came, 

And  deemed  I  should  be  happier  by  the  change, 
But  Place  will  leave  the  anxious  heart  the  same, 

Bliss  is  in  state,  where'er  the  man  may  range. 
Sunsets  and  rainbows,  and  the  skies'  soft  blue, 

Earth's  glory,  and  the  stars,  are  in  the  mind; 
The  heart  must  give  the  universe  its  hue — 

There  is  no  Beauty  when  the  Soul  is  blind. 
We  bear  within  us  that  which  makes  us  blest, 
And  Heaven  and  Hell  are  carried  in  the  breast. 


96  MISCELLANEOUS. 

IN  MEMORIAM. 

"  Whom  the  gods  love  die  young,"  was  said, 
And  most  we  feel  the  mournful  truth, 

Since  with  the  still  and  blessed  dead, 
He  lay  down  meekly  in  his  youth. 

No  more  the  fields  and  hills  he  loved 
With  him  shall  laugh,  with  him  be  sad, 

No  more  the  friends  with  whom  he  moved 
Shall  smile  to  meet  him,  and  be  glad. 

We,  who  live  on  beneath  the  skies, 
Must  wait,  and  walk  without  him  now; 

Nor  see,  above  his  manly  -eyes, 
God's  signet  on  his  royal  brow. 

"They  do  not  need  him  there,"  we  say, 
Who  feel  his  worth  since  he  is  gone; 

For  Heaven  is  made  of  such  as  he, 

While  here  and  there  the  earth  has  one. 

But  in  the  realms  beyond  the  sun, 
His  peers  desired  him  face  to  face; 

And  prayed,  that  if  his  work  were  done, 
He  might  be  with  them  in  his  place. 

So,  bound  with  us,  he  suffered,  till 
The  Angel  came  and  set  him  free, 

The  King  had  some  high  place  to  fill, 
And  sent  the  summons  suddenly  ! 

Softly  his  breath  went  as  the  sigh 

Of  south-winds  from  the  Isles  of  Rest; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  97 

Calmly  he  died  as  stars  that  die, 
Behind  the  gray  hills  in  the  West. 

With  Hope  and  Faith  and  Love  to  save, 
And  happiest  with  his  latest  breath, 

Who  would  not  live  his  life  to  have 
Such  beautiful  and  blessed  death  ? 

Brave  heart,  high  mind,  and  noble  soul, 

Farewell  !  until  we  come  to  thee; 
Short  was  thy  journey  to  the  goal, 

But  great  thy  bliss  and  state  shall  be  ! 


THE  ARMY  OF  TYPES. 

O,  a  glorious  fame  is  the  fame  of  the  fray, 
For  the  Banner  of  Stars  and  of  Stripes  ! 

But  the  mightiest  soldiers  of  all  are  they 
Who  march  in  the  Army  of  Types  ! 

How  they  come  at  the  wave  of  the  Captain's  hand, 
How  they  gather  with  rattle  and  click, 

And  leap  to  the  ranks  at  the  silent  command, 
On  the  forming-ground  of  the  stick  ! 

And  whether  it  storm  or  whether  it  shine, 

And  ever  by  day  and  by  night, 
With  a  click,  click,  click,  they  fall  into  line, 

And  march  away  to  the  fight ! 

Each  soldier  moves  on  in  his  squad  of  a  word, 
To  the  Drum  of  the  Age  in  the  van; 

And  armed  with  a  two-edged  invisible  sword, 
That  cuts  through  the  spirit  of  man. 


9  8  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Where  Ignorance  sits  on  her  shadowy  thrones, 
Built  round  by  the  walls  of  Old  Night, 

They  crumble  and  crush  into  powder  the  stones, 
And  let  in  the  Legions  of  Light ! 

Where  Tyranny  reigns  with  his  foot  and  his  yoke, 
On  the  neck  of  the  poor  and  the  just, 

They  cease  not  to  smite  till  the  fetters  are  broke, 
And  the  Tyrant  is  laid  in  the  dust. 

O,  Army  of  Freedom  !  and  Army  of  Light ! 

O,  Host  of  Mankind  !  battle  on; 
Till  the  People  shall  rule  in  their  God-given  right, 

And  the  long  Night  of  Error  is  gone  ! 

O,  a  glorious  fame  is  the  fame  of  the  fray, 
For  the  Banner  of  Stars  and  of  Stripes ! 

But  the  mightiest  soldiers  of  all  are  they 
Who  march  in  the  Army  of  Types ! 


LINES  WRITTEN    AFTER    THE    FRANCO-AUSTRIAN 
WAR. 

Is  the  war  ended,  or  begun  ? 
Was  there  another  victory  won  ? 

Who  shall  the  world  inform  ? 
Perchance  it  was  the  bulging  cloud, 
That,  big  with  wind  and  bellowing  loud, 

Leads  up  the  coming  storm. 

The  Sphinx,  Napoleon,  tries  his  arms, 
And  Europe's  knees  knock  with  alarms, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  99 

The  thwarted  Austrians  pause; 
Italia  gains  another  inch, 
Nor  Pope  nor  King  her  life  can  quench, 

Nor  foes  subvert  her  cause. 

Let  monarchs  battle  as  they  may, 
Heaven  uses  tyrants  every  day 

To  set  the  people  free  ! 
Behold  !  the  sky  is  all  aglow, 
The  sun  is  coming  up,  and  lo  ! 

The  morn  of  Liberty ! 

There  will  be  trouble  long  and  sore, 
The  sea  shall  rise  and  smite  the  shore, 

The  bolt  on  hill  and  valley  fall; 
The  tread  of  nations  soon  shall  shake 
The  world;  men  shall  arise  and  break 

Their  chains,  and  crush  each  prison  wall. 

The  Dragon's  teeth  have  long  been  sown 
Throughout  the  nations,  and  anon 

The  armed  men  shall  rise; 
But  Liberty  shall  come,  and  then 
Free  men  shall  love  their  brother  men, 

And  earth  shall  be  a  Paradise. 

King  of  himself,  the  man  must  reign, 
Nor  longer  shall  his  prayers  remain 

Unheeded  and  despised. 
Self-rule  must  come,  the  struggling  crowd, 
The  mass  of  men,  are  crown-endowed, 

Each  man  a  king  disguised  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

BROTHERHOOD. 

In  dreams  I  walked  through  gloomy  vales, 
Where  barren  fields  and  chilly  gales 

The  weary  heart  opprest; 
A  leaden  sky  hung  over  all, 
The  red  sun,  like  a  red-hot  ball, 

Rolled  beamless  down  the  West. 

Anon  I  crossed  a  mountain  height, 

And  reached  a  land  where  skies. were  bright, 

With  here  and  there  a  speck. 
The  blooming  fields  were  green  and  red, 
And  clouds  hung  round  the  mountain-head, 

Like  ruffles  round  a  neck. 

The  glad  swains  at  their  labors  sang, 
With  birds  and  bees  the  green  woods  rang, 

The  plains  with  flocks  were  white; 
From  hills  and  peaks  the  roofs  and  domes 
Of  tow'ring  fanes  and  happy  homes. 

Shone  beautiful  and  bright. 

And  azure  rivers  through  the  ranks 

Of  far-off  hills  came  broadly  sweeping; 
And  white  towns  lay  along-  their  banks, 

Like  flocks  upon  the  hillsides  sleeping. 
Far  down  there  was  a  golden  bay, 

Where  tides  forever  ebb  and  flow; 
A  city  on  an  island  lay, 

And  a  wilderness  of  ships  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  asked  what  name  the  valley  bore, 
As  a  fair  maiden  ran  before, 

And  gathered  flowers  in  a  grove; 
And,  bending  down  her  shining  head, 
And  blushing  like  a  rose,  she  said: 

"  The  vale  of  Brotherhood  and  Love." 

O,  weary  men  !  that  walk  to-day 
The  gloomy  vale  and  stony  way, 

Beneath  the  leaden  skies; 
The  race  shall  cross  the  range  between 
The  barren  valley  and  the  green, 

And  dwell  in  Paradise ! 

O,  fellow-men  !  the  world  is  wide, 
Rich  vales  extend  on  every  side, 

And  skies  are  bright  above; 
Unite  in  Brother  Bands  as  one, 
And  make  each  land  beneath  the  sun, 

A  vale  of  Brotherhood  and  Love. 


THE  DREAMER. 

He  walks  among  the  fields,  and  hears 
The  bees  that  round  the  blossoms  hum, 

While  yearning  for  the  better  days, 
That  never,  never  come. 

The  golden  sun  goes  up  the  sky, 

The  blue  dome  bends  above; 
"  Dull  life,"  he  says,   ' '  that  has  no  grief," 

"  Dull  life  that  has  no  love." 


I Q2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"O,  blue,  abiding  hills,"  he  says, 

"  Blue  mountains  in  the  far  bright  air, 

"  Is  that  the  all-beauteous  world  I  see, 
Beyond  your  shining  summits  there  ? 

"  Too  fair  for  speech  !  but  not  for  that, — 
"  But  not  for  that  I  love  you  so; 

"  Ye  bring  me  back  the  dream  of  love, 
"  That  died  so  many  years  ago." 

Each  season  as  he  roams  the  fields, 
He  sighs,  "  the  better  days  will  come, " 

And  every  year  has  less  of  joy, 
And  every  summer  less  of  bloom. 

And  resting  in  the  grass  he  mused: 
"  God  fills  the  future  and  the  past, 

"  His  Heaven  is  hung  all  round  the  earth, 
"  And  Heaven  must  win  and  rule  at  last. 

"  So  let  the  earth  roll  on  to-day, 

"And  let  the  earth  roll  on  to-morrow, 

"And  morning  bloom  and  bloom  again, 
"And  wake  the  world  to  sorrow." 

And  yet  he  roams  the  fields  and  dreams, 
While  bees  around  the  blossoms  hum, 

Still  yearning  for  the  better  days, 
That  never,  never  come. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  I 

THE  FLIRT. 

Alas  !  she's  thirty-five  to-day, 

And  still  without  the  love  that  blesses, 
And  here  and  there  a  snake  of  gray, 

Steals  through  the  soft  grass  of  her  tresses. 
Time's  foot,  from  cheek  and  bosom  warm, 

Has  trod  the  pulp  and  hue  of  peaches, 
And  the  rich  blood  that  plumped  her  form, 

Is  sapped  away  by  sorrow's  leeches. 

Gone  is  the  warm  light  from  her  brow, 

That  flashes  out  when  passion  gushes; 
Gone  is  the  train  of  suitors  now, 

That  praised  hergrace  and  smiles  and  blushes. 
And  so  the  world  lifts  up  its  voice, 

Amused  to  think  the  dart  reverting, 
"  We  do  not  pity,  but  rejoice, 

She  reaps  the  harvest  sown  by  flirting." 

Ah  !  blame  her  not.     Through  years  of  doubt 

And  prayers  for  love  that  seemed  unheeded, 
The  tendrils  of  her  heart  reached  out, 

But  never  found  the  oak  they  needed. 
In  all  the  rich  and  wooing  train 

Not  one  could  quench  her  spirit's  thirsting; 
She  never  found  the  sun  and  rain, 

To  ope  the  flower  which  was  bursting. 

O,  world  !  a  million  hearts,  to-day, 

Are  going  down  through  life,  and  praying 


104  MISCELLANEOUS. 

For  a  high  love  still  far  away, 

Forever  coming  and  delaying. 
O,  hearts  !  that  unto  death  from  birth 

Find  not  the  love  that  should  be  given, 
The  spirits  whom  ye  seek  on  earth, 

Are  waiting  at  the  gates  of  Heaven  ! 

GARIBALDI. 

O,  Italy  !  thou  poet's  flame  ! 

Baptized  in  beauty  from  thy  birth, 
Thou  Venus  of  the  lands  of  earth, 

Thou  hast  indeed  a  charmed  name. 

Lo  !  thou  art  free,  for  God  is  just; 

Thou  shalt  make  war  and  suffering  sweet, 
And  underneath  thy  beauteous  feet, 

Shalt  grind  thy  fetters  into  dust. 

Lo  !  thou  art  free !  for  God  is  just; 

We  heard  thee  groan,  we  heard  thee  break 
The  iron  yoke  from  thy  tender  neck, 

And  rise  up  struggling  from  the  dust. 

Like  one  who  faints,  and  in  the  strife 
And  awful  struggle  for  his  breath, 
Fights  long  and  fearfully  with  Death, 

And  breaks  away  and  comes  to  life. 

Mother  of  one  whom  not  alone 
One  nation  claims,  but  all  the  race 
Looks  up  to  with  admiring  face, 

And  says,  "  we  claim  thee  as  our  own." 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

He  cometh  like  a  gathering  rain — 
A  tempest  coming  up  the  West, 
With  thunders  rolling  through  his  breast, 

And  lightnings  flashing  through  his  brain, 

To  make  thee  free  !  O,  man  from  Heaven  ! 
Thy  deeds  again  have  taught  the  race 
That  unto  goodness,  not  to  place 

And  power,  the  hearts  of  men  are  given. 

No  outward  crown  thy  hands  shall  take, 
Sceptre  and  throne  are  not  for  thee, 
But  they  who  make  the  kings  must  be 

Superior  to  the  kings  they  make. 

Thy  place  is  with  eternal  kings, 
Thy  throne  is  on  a  race's  heart, 
Thy  empire  never  can  depart, 

While  history  lives  or  poet  sings. 


HOME-SICK. 

Night  in  the  city  !     From  the  deep-down  street 

The  money-eager  multitude  is  gone, 
The  watchman's  club  rings  out  along  his  beat, 

And  the  Cathedral  clock,  far  off,  strikes  one. 
No  other  sounds,  save  now  and  then  huge  roars 

From  a  great  lion  in  his  iron  cage: 
Perchance  some  memory  of  Numidian  shores, 

Makes  his  heart  home-sick  till  he  roars  with  rage  ! 
And  deeming  thus  my  heart  goes  far  away, 


106  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Again  among  my  native  hills  to  roam; 
O,  lonely  man  !  O,  lonely  beast  of  prey  ! 

Two  fellow-exiles  far  away  from  home  ! 
One  shakes  the  city  with  protesting  cries, 
One  only  turns  his  face  toward  the  wall  and  sighs 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

O,  happy  day  in  summer  time  ! 

O,  day  all  beautiful  and  bright ! 
When,  hand  in  hand,  the  lovers  went 

Far  up  the  sunny  mountain  height. 

For  hours  they  sat  and  looked  away 
At  the  vast  earth  and  vast  blue  air, 

And  inwardly  they  wept  to  see 

That  God  had  made  the  world  so  fair. 

Below  the  land  in  billows  broke, 
Or  rolled  a  boundless  sea  of  green, 

And  homes  like  gardens  blooming  lay 
With  roads  like  garden-paths  between. 

Here  fifty  miles  of  river  ran, 
A  hundred  miles  of  mountain  there; 

Woods  over  woods,  for  leagues  and  leagues, 
Sloped  up  the  wide  world  like  a  stair. 

The  Blue  Ridge  reared  its  hundred  heads 
And  stretched  abroad  its  rocky  arms, 

And,  far  along,  its  bulging  sides 

Were  spotted  with  a  thousand  farms. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Far  off  the  summer  clouds  were  piled, 
Like  hills  of  snow  together  driven, 

Huge  avalanches,  fallen  down 

From  some  great  Alpine  range  in  Heaven. 

All  afternoon  the  golden  gates 
Stood  open  in  the  balmy  West, 

And  winds  went  up  and  down  the  earth, 
Like  angels  on  some  holy  quest. 

And  there  above  the  toil  and  strife, 
In  the  pure  air  with  God  on  high, 

They  told  each  other  all  their  love, 
And  kissed  each  other  in  the  sky  ! 


107 


THE  WHISTLER. 

He  never  sings,  but  whistles  as  he  goes, 
Nor  written  song  nor  symphony  he  knows, 
But  in  those  strains  what  music  has  its  birth, 
Into  the  common  air  of  common  earth  ! 
What  heavenly  fountains,  deep  and  far  away, 
Send  up  such  bubbles  to  the  light  of  day  ? 
Sweet  wails,  as  from  an  angel  wrung  with  pain, 
And  lover's  sighs  from  one  who  loves  in  vain, 
And  sparkling  ripples  as  from  mountain  rills, 
And  far-off  notes  like  bugles  on  the  hills. 
Some  god  must  lie  within  him  prisoned  deep, 
Who  wails  and  murmurs  in  a  broken  sleep. 
If  the  divine-sweet  sounds  he  makes  were  caught, 
And  into  one  befitting  song  were  wrought, 
The  world  would  laugh  and  weep  as  ne'er  before, 
And  sing  the  witching  song  forevermore  ! 


1 08  MISCELLANE  O  US. 

HOPE   AND   DUTY. 

Who  mourns  because  the  Past  is  dead 

Will  never  win  the  goal  of  glory; 
Who  sees  the  Future  rosy  red, 

Will  leave  a  name  to  song  and  story. 
Who  takes  the  Present,  day  by  day, 

And  struggles  up  the  hills  of  Duty, 
Will  find  the  things  for  which  men  pray, 

Come  to  him  in  a  World  of  Beauty  ! 


YOUNG   LOVE. 

The  sun  has  crossed  the  mountains  high, 
And  swept  the  mist-webs  from  the  sky, 
And  sipped  the  dews  along  the  vales, 
And  fanned  the  earth  with  balmy  gales, 
When  down  along  sequestered  ways 
A  pensive,  love-lorn  maiden  strays, 
Where  cool  groves  fringe  the  river  side, 
And  gray  rocks  overhang  the  tide. 

The  valleys  and  the  hills  in  bloom 
Fill  the  bright  morning  with  perfume; 
From  the  green  fields  and  forests  come 
Low  murmurings,  a  dreamy  hum; 
On  flower  and  clover-top  the  bee 
Swings  as  it  sips;  on  bush  and  tree 
The  glad  birds  sing;  the  waters  pour 
Over  the  fall  with  drowsy  roar, 
And  stretching  far  across  the  globe, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  109 

Upheaved  against  the  distant  sky, 
The  mountains  in  a  misty  robe, 

Look  down  o'er  clouds  that  wander  by; 
So  cool  and  fresh  their  azure  hue, 
The  maiden  thirsts  to  drink  their  blue  ! 

Behind  her,  as  she  sat  and  thought 
On  joys  and  woes  that  love  had  wrought, 
She  heard  a  sound,  and,  with  a  start ! 
She  knew  the  beating  of  a  heart ! 
Now  something  like  a  breath  she  feels 
As  down  her  cheek  and  neck  it  steals, 
And  two  strong  arms  her  neck  enclose, 
While  near  her  own  a  warm  face  glows  ! 
She  does  not  look— she  does  not  speak, 
For  fear  the  blissful  spell  may  break  ! 
Without  a  word  their  lips  have  met, 
Her  lips  with  his  warm  lips  are  wet ! 
And  Earth  recedes,  and  Heaven  is  there  ! 
Oh,  mountains,  hills  and  vales,  how  fair  ! 
How  all  the  birds  and  insects  sing, 
'Till  fields  and  woods  and  valleys  ring  ! 

They  took  no  note  of  time  that  day, 

They  wandered  long  and  gathered  flowers, 
She  sang  him  many  a  love-sweet  lay, 

And  charmed  away  the  heavenly  hours. 
And  when  the  sun  went  down  at  night, 

And  o'er  the  mountains  came  the  moon, 
They  sighed  to  think  a  day  so  bright 

Should  hasten  to  a  close  so  soon. 


HO  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  silently  their  souls  communed, 

As,  hand  in  hand,  they  journeyed  home, 

And  all  their  thoughts,  to  love  attuned, 
Were  sweet  as  honey  in  the  honey-comb. 


THE  PHANTOM  SAWYER. 

Over  there  the  sawyer  lived,  over  there  he  went 

about, 
With  his  saw-buck  and  his  saw,  coming  in  and  going 

out, 
Until  gloomy   thoughts  and    spirits   came  upon  him 

unaware, 
And  obsessed  him  and  possessed  him  till  they  drove 

him  to  despair, — 
Drove  him  desperate  to  the  barn,  in  a  nightmare  or  a 

dream, 

Where  the  neighbors  found  him  stark,  hanging  stran 
gled  from  a  beam. 
Then  they  buried  him  apart,  praying  briefly  for  his 

soul, 
Just  beyond  the  graveyard  wall,  on  a  bleak  and  lonely 

knoll, 

And  a  melancholy  ghost,  so  the  villagers  declare, 
From  the  midnight  to  the  dawn,  haunts  the  barnyard 

over  there — 
From  the   midnight  to   the   dawn,  still  the  old  man 

glides  about, 
With  his  saw-buck  and  his  saw,  coming  in  and  going 

out ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  I  I  I 

And  I  often  lie  at  night,  while  from  thought  to 

thought  I  drift, 

And  I  hear  a  phantom  saw  saying  "  Swift,  swift,  swift, " 
Hear  a  sawing  and  a  drawing,  like  a  short  and  panting 

breath, 
Or  the  heavy-labored  breathing,  in  the  closing  throat 

of  death. 
Then  a  "cough,  cough,  cough,"  like  a  barking,  croupy 

cough, 

As  the  saw  is  going  through,  and  the  stick  is  coming  off, 
Narrowing  down  and  narrowing  down,  to  a  quick  and 

sudden  stop, 
And  I  hear  the  phantom  stick,  with  a  ghostly  thudding 

drop,— 
Hear  a  drop  and  hear  a  thud,  as  when  a  culprit  meets 

his  fate, 
Murdered  on  a  ghastly  gallows,  to  appease  a  bloody 

State  ! 


APOSTROPHE  TO  A  COMET. 

Ethereal  Wanderer  !  whence  comest  thou  ? 

Like  some  great  Angel  journeying  from  on  high, 
Down-turning  toward  Earth  thy  radiant  brow, 

And  thy  bright  locks  far  streaming  through  the  sky. 
Dread  visitor  of  old  !  art  come  as  then  ? 
Portending  ruin  to  the  sons  of  men, 
Shaking  dire  Pestilence  from  thy  baleful  mane, 
Drawing  red  War  and  Famine  in  thy  train  ? 


I  I  2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Or  does  some  helpful  mission  prompt  thy  flight  ? 

A  pilot  Angel  sent  to  distant  spheres, 
Coming  to  guide  dark  worlds  to  realms  of  light, 

To  shine  and  sing  through  countless  cycle-years  ? 
With  song  and  music  do  the  planets  greet  thee  ? 
With  smiling  welcome  do  they  run  to  meet  thee  ? 
Hast  thou  been  up  among  the  Pleiades  ? 
Or  far  beyond,  to  brighter  orbs  than  these? 

Above  all  burning  suns,  beside  some  great 

And  topmost  star  that  forms  a  diamond  crown 
To  the  vast  universe  ?     Didst  thou  relate 

That  deep  below  the  Galaxy,  deep  down, 
It  seemed  upon  the  far  frontier  of  space, 
There  was  a  dim  and  yet  a  lovely  place, 
Peopled  with  little  forms  of  wondrous  ken, 
Dowered  like  the  immortal  gods  and  known  as  men  ? 

Perchance  thou  art  a  Sentinel  of  Heaven 

Pacing  thy  wonted  round  ?     Perchance  from  home, 
From  friends  that  love  thee  and  from  country  driven, 

Thou  art  an  Exile  doomed  to  weep  and  roam  ? 
Perchance  a  Shepherd  in  the  fields  of  air, 
Tending  a  flock  of  worlds — a  glorious  care  ! 
And  now  art  come  to  learn  how  fares  the  sun, 
And  the  bright  lambs  that  round  him  sport  and  run  ? 

Perchance  thy  flight  is  winged  from  that  Dread  One, 
The  Core  of  Things,  the  Real,  the  Ultimate, 

The  only  Substance,  nameless  and  unknown, 
Who  is  Existence  and  whose  will  is  Fate  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  \  I  3 

To  whom  the  boundless  universe  appears 
A  crystal  bright,  whose  atoms  are  the  spheres  ! 
Perchance  The  Being  sends  thee  forth  to  say — 
Whatever  lives  and  feels  shall  live  foraye. 

O,  flaming  Wanderer  !  what  countless  eyes 

Have  searched  the  heavens  with  asking,  pleading  gaze, 

Nor  answer  found  in  all  the  star-sown  skies  ! 
Canst  thou  the  secret  to  the  worlds  emblaze  ? 

Then  far  along  the  stellar  highways  flame  ! 

To  Nature's  verge  the  joyful  yes  proclaim  ! 

Till  all  the  stars  shall  shout  and  sing  again 

Their  primal  song,  their  glad  creation  strain  ! 


MIDDLE  AGE. 

We  stand  upon  the  deck  of  life, 

And,  looking  backward,  long  to  warn 

Yon  new  ships  coming  from  the  rocks 
On  which  our  keels  and  sides  were  torn. 

A  little  to  the  larboard  there, 

A  little  to  the  starboard  here, 
Will  miss  the  rocks  on  which  we  struck, 

And  bring  them  through  the  perils  dear- 
Till  strong  of  will  and  keen  of  eye, 

Each  one  shall  steer  his  good  ship  past, 
Sail  safely  up  the  bay  of  age, 

And  touch  the  heavenly  pier  at  last. 


114  MISCELLANEOUS. 

WORSHIP. 

She  sat  there  in  the  church  that  summer  morning, 
A  beauty-nimbus  round  her  shapely  head, 

While  soft  winds  sought  her  through  the  open  windows, 
From  clover  fields  that  blossomed  white  and  red. 

The  green  trees  in  the  churchyard  whispered  gently, 

Praising  her  beauty  to  the  skies  above, 
And  all  the  gardens  blooming  out  beyond  her, 

Sent  up  in  perfumed  clouds  their  incense-love. 

About  the  place  there  shone  a  heavenly  glory, 
Brighter  than  her  own  beauty  could  have  made, 

And  I  believe  the  angels  who  were  present, 
Were  drawn  around  her  as  she  sat  and  prayed. 

And  while  the  preacher  read  a  text  denouncing 

Worship  of  idols  and  their  worshipers, 
I  saw  the  All-Beauteous  in  her  perfect  beauty, 

And  in  my  heart  bowed  down  and  worshiped  hers  ! 


TWO  BOXES. 

Down  at  the  levee,  in  a  Southern  city, 

I  saw  two  narrow  boxes  side  by  side, 
Marked  with  the  names  of  two  young  men,  and  asking, 

I  learned  how  they  had  died. 

These  two  men  loved  one  maiden  from  their  boyhood, 
And  quarreled  and  hated  with  a  deadly  hate; 

Each  swore  an  oath  the  other  should  not  wed  her, 
And,  swearing,  sealed  his  fate. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  I  I  5 

In  the  old  days  of  dueling  and  slavery, 

When  murder  skulked  behind  the  bloody  code, 

They  met  at  early  morning  down  the  river, 
Along  a  lonely  road. 

Each  with  a  friend  to  oversee  the  murder, 

They  met  in  hate  and  pride, 
And  the  code's  license  silencing  compunction, 

They  fired  and  fell  and  died. 

There  stark  and  cold  they  lay  in  narrow  boxes, 
Ah,  foolish  well  they  kept  their  deadly 

And  silently  they  journeyed  home  together, 
And  she  bemoaned  them  both. 

O,  human  hearts  !  that  break  o'er  wrongs  and  sorrows, 
That  mourn  o'er  lives  in  folly  thrown  away. 

When  shall  the  earth  and  heavens,  in  love  uniting, 
Bring  on  the  Judgment  Day  ! 


OUR  LIFE. 

Our  life  is  like  our  earth,  untamed  and  crude, 

With  vales  of  love-experience,  bright  and  fair, 

Jungles  of  self,  where  beasts  and  serpents  brood, 

Mountains  of  deeds,  high-towering  in  the  air, 

And  seas  of  restlessness  and  mighty  care, 

Woods  of  concern  that  intricately  rise, 

And  sloughs  of  dread  and  caverns  of  despair. 

And  still  forever  on  the  horizon  lies 

The  Heaven  which  we  seek,  far  in  the  golden  skies 


Il6  MISCELLANEOUS. 

AT   THE  PARTY. 

The  loveliest  girls  in  the  town  were  there, 
And  the  one  above  all  that  he  loved  best, 

With  a  white  rose  in  her  night-black  hair, 
And  a  red  rose  on  her  snow-white  breast. 

They  sat  without  on  the  cool,  green  lawn, 

In  the  light  of  the  moon,  looking  down  from  the 
West, 

They  talked  of  love,  and  he  bent  so  low 

That  he  smelt  the  rose  on  her  snow-white  breast. 

She  smoothed  the  locks  from  his  throbbing  brow; 

And  he  felt  so  flushed  and  thrilled  and  blest, 
That  he  leaned,  with  his  lips  and  heart  on  fire, 

And  kissed  the  rose  on  her  snow-white  breast. 

EARTH  AND  SPRING. 

Fled  to  the  North  the  Winter  King, 
The  amorous  Earth  made  love  to  Spring; 
Through  March  she  wore  a  chilling  frown, 
And  stormed  and  blustered  up  and  down. 

All  April-time  she  wept  and  smiled, 
And  pouted  like  a  testy  child, 
And  threw  some  flowers  on  the  plain, 
Pouted  and  wept  and  smiled  again. 

In  May  she  feigned  dislike  awhile, 
Then  burst  into  a  glorious  smile, 
And,  blushing,  fell  upon  his  breast, 
And  so  the  bridegroom  Earth  was  blest. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  I  I  7 

DRIFTING. 

There  is  a  blue  ocean  unbound  by  a  shore, 
On  which  we  are  drifting  and  drifting  away, 

Far  o'er  the  expanse  there  are  fleets  of  bright  ships 
That  we  see  from  our  deck  at  the  close  of  the  day. 

We  never  can  hail  the  bright  ships  that  we  see, 

For  our  shoutings  are  drowned  in  the  boundless 
main, 

And  where  are  we  from  ?  and  whereto  are  we  bound  ? 
We  are  asking  each  other,  but  asking  in  vain. 

We  are  launched  on  a  limitless,  endless  deep, 
Far  drifting  and  drifting,  but  reaching  no  shore, 

Yet  hoping  forever  a  haven  to  find, 

Where  fear  of  the  tempest  will  haunt  us  no  more. 

Adrift  on  a  ship  without  rudder  or  sail, 

No  compass,  no  chart  and  no  captain  have  we, 

But  a  Power  Almighty,  unknown  and  unfound, 
Drives  us  and  the  far-shining  ships  that  we  see. 

GIRL  LOVE. 

I  cannot  think  nor  work  nor  bow 
In  morning  prayer  to  Heaven  above, 

So  full  of  him  my  heart  is  now, 
I  cannot  do  a  thing  but  love  ! 

O,  Love  !  thou  source  of  bliss  and  bane  ! 
How  sweetly  troublesome  thou  art ! 


I  I  8  MISCELLANEOUS. 

What  pangs  of  bliss,  what  thrills  of  pain, 
Thou  bringest  to  the  maiden  heart ! 

Here  at  the  window  every  day 
1  sit  and  look  and  wait  and  sigh, 

To  see  my  love  come  up  the  way, 
Like  morning  up  the  sky. 

And  if  to  me  no  glance  is  sped, 
All  day  I'm  sad  enough  to  die; 

But  if  he  turns  his  manly  head, 
And  lifts  to  me  his  splendid  eye, — 

Hush,  beating  heart !  thou  foolish  thing  ! 

Keep  back  the  blood,  thou  foolish  face  ! 
The  earth  seems  all  a  downy  swing, 

Swinging  me  up  and  down  in  space  ! 


AT  THE  CONCERT. 

Around  the  hall  the  lights  shone  down 
On  half  the  beauty  of  the  town, 
On  swaying,  perfumed  multitudes, 
That  rustled  like  the  summer  woods; 
And  my  own  well-beloved  was  there, 
And  wore  a  white  rose  in  her  hair. 

And  while,  with  many  a  look  and  stir, 
Men  bowed  and  smiled  their  love  to  her, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  119 

And  good-named  youths  whose  blood  ran  high, 
Were  happy  when  they  caught  her  eye, 
I  knew,  as  sure  as  sure  could  be, 
She  put  the  white  rose  there  for  me  ! 

Ah,  well-beloved  !  the  space  is  wide, 
That  keeps  me  yearning  from  thy  side; 
What  hills  and  mountains  intervene  ! 
What  seas  and  rivers  roll  between  ! 
But  Love  can  laugh  at  heights  like  these, 
And  Love  can  bridge  the  very  seas  ! 


AURORA  BOREALIS. 

The  heavens  held  a  jubilee  last  night, 

Some  festival  of  gods  and  worlds  on  high, 
Burnished  the  stars  to  lustre  doubly  bright, 

And  waved  their  gorgeous  colors  round  the  sky. 
Streamers  and  flags,  of  hues  exquisite  blent, 

Quivered  athwart  the  bright  immensities, 
Till  all  the  infinite  dome  shone  like  a  tent 

Of  striped  silk,  a-tremble  in  the  breeze  ! 
What  great  event  evoked  the  grand  display  ? 

Some  high  Celestial  wed  with  heavenly  bride  ? 
Some  wandering  star  returned,  long  gone  astray  ? 

Some  new  god  called  for  aeons  to  preside  ? 
Or  was  some  new  world  launched  for  countless  years, 
And  sent  exulting  through  rejoicing  spheres? 


I  2  O  MISCELLANE  0  US. 


SONG  OF  THE  TRUTH  SEEKERS. 

No  State  nor  Church  that  ever  man  conceived, 

No  creed  of  priest  that  ever  man  believed, 

No  past  device,  npr  system  yet  to  be, 

Can  ever  make  the  human  spirit  free. 

But  the  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  shall  make  us 

free, 

The  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  our  guide  shall  be; 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
Lead  on !  lead  on  !  above  all  ages  and  creeds, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
We  follow  wherever  it  leads  ! 

No  chains  nor  stripes  our  zeal  and  search  can  stay, 

The  God  of  Nature  calls  and  we  obey, 

From  far  within  he  beckons  and  eludes, 

And  shines  on  him  who  reverently  intrudes. 

And  the  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  shall  make  us 

free, 

The  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  our  guide  shall  be; 
Lead  on  !  lead  on !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  above  all  ages  and  creeds, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
We  follow  wherever  it  leads  ! 

The  path  we  tread  with  martyr  blood  is  red, 
Men  give  us  stones  because  we  give  them  bread, 
But  every  truth  we  find  shines  out  afar, 
No  bigot  power  can  quench  the  new-found  star. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  121 

And  the  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  shall  make  us 

free, 

The  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  our  guide  shall  be; 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  above  all  ages  and  creeds, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
We  follow  wherever  it  lea'ds  ! 

Lead  on  !  till  Right  the  earth  and  heavens  shall  sway, 
Till  Wrong  and  Hate  and  War  shall  pass  away, 
Till  Good  alone  all  hearts  and  hands  shall  move, 
And  men  shall  live  in  Brotherhood  and  Love. 

O,  the  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  shall  make  us 

free, 

The  Truth,  the  Truth,  the  Truth  our  guide  shall  be; 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
Lead  on  !  lead  on  !  above  all  ages  and  creeds, 
Lead  on !  lead  on  !  we  follow  wherever  it  leads, 
We  follow  wherever  it  leads  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  ALL-PARENT. 

I  am  the  Father  and  Mother  in  one, 
Father  and  Mother  of  planet  and  sun, 
Parent-God,  Dual-God,  being  from  whom 
Issue  the  worlds,  from  my  loins  and  my  womb ! 

Jupiter,  Saturn  and  Neptune  and  Mars, 
Earth  and  all  planets  and  all  of  my  stars, 


I  2  2  MISCELLANE  O  US. 

Worlds  without  end  from  my  being  are  sprung, 
And  all  are  my  schools  where  I  nurture  my  young. 

Jupiter,  Saturn  and  Neptune  and  Mars, 

Earth  and  all  planets  and  all  of  my  stars, 

Rock  them  and  roll  them   and  swing  them  through 

space, 
And  pass  them  up  safe  to  my  loving  embrace. 

Not  one  can  sink  but  it  sinks  to  my  arms, 
Not  one  is  marred  but  is  radiant  with  charms, 
Not  one  can  fall  but  it  falls  upon  me, 
And  I  toss  it  up  again,  joyous  and  free  ! 

All  of  my  children  shall  grow  into  men, 
Up  through  the  spheres  I  shall  nurse  them  till  then, 
Here  in  my  Pleasure-Grounds  ever  to  be, 
Walking,  rejoicing,  abiding  with  me. 

I  am  the  Father  and  Mother  in  one, 
Father  and  Mother  of  planet  and  sun, 
Parent-God,  Dual-God,  being  from  whom 
Issue  the  worlds,  from  my  loins  and  my  womb  I 


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